

Class iA£A2i 

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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



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VERSE 



BY 



GODFREY EGREMONT 



♦ > ♦ < ♦ 



MAB PRESS 
Great Kills, New York 

London Manhattan Branch 

13 Jewin Crescent 116 Nassau St., N. Y. 



THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS, 

Twf Copies Receive*! 

OCT 12 1903 

Cepy right Entry 

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CLASS «~ XXc. N< 

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COPY B. 



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Copyright, 1902, by 
Godfrey Egremont 

Copyright, 1903, by 
Godfrey Egremont 



Entered' at 'Stationers Hall. 
(All rights reserved.) 



CONTENTS. - 

PAGE. 

Animalia Creatoris i 

Friedrichsruh 16 

Coronation iy 

Cincinnatus 17 

A Songster 21 

Birthright 22 

Song — In Life's halcyon weather 23 

Molene 24 

? 25 

Ethel 25 

A New Year 28 

Pessimism 29 

Waterpots 30 

In Sodom? 30 

The Mirror 31 

Crete 31 

The Singing Boy ^2 

Song — O woman windeth 33 

Britain 34 

To Gladstone 35 

A Story of Spain 36 

Khodinsky 45 

The British Hymn 46 

Catharine Booth 47 

All Men 48 

German Bonds 40 

Rdundlieati Song— (freftire Naseby) , . 50 



IV 

PAGE. 

Dreams 5° 

His Majesty 5 2 

To Greece 54 

In the Cell 55 

To France, I 62 

To France, II 62 

Afterward 63 

Loving Eyes 64 

The Cloud's Complaint 65 

Jubilee 70 

In Australia 

Progress 70 

Their Christmas 71 

To England 72 

Moonshine Song 74 

Port Victor 75 

Wattle Bloom 76 

The Unjust Judge 77 

Vale, Salve 78 

Her Majesty's Mails 80 

The Commonwealth 86 

Yesterday 86 

England's Greatness 87 

She shines upon me 88 

Nimmer Zuriick 89 

Discipleship 89 

Threefold 90 

With Thee is to-morrow 91 

In the City 92 

German Arms 94 

A Nocturn 95 

The Song of the Poet 96 

"Thinfc arfe Mitfe" , , . . . , 97 



V 

PAGE. 

Death and the Devil gambled 98 

Labour 98 

Dagmar's Cross 99 

Christmas 128 

The Visitors 128 

In America 

Democracy 129 

Lincoln 130 

The Transvaal "Republic" 131 

Nations 132 

The British Folk to America 133 

Peccavimus 134 

The American Anthem 138 

(Music with 1st verse.) 

Roundhead Song — Sithen 'tis war 140 

You and I 140 

Sleep 143 

Gemma 143 

Milly 144 

The Most Foolish Thing 150 

Ach! ach! 151 

Insomnia 151 

Roundhead Song — When lusty Dick 151 

To Ethel on Her Wedding-day 152 

The Sovran Poet 153 

Here To-day 153 

Loving Hearts 1 54 

The Bitter Cup 154 

Our House 1 54 

South Africa 160 

The Instrument 163 

A Noble Love 167 

The English Dream 286 



ANIMALIA CREATORIS. 

See the light through the dark, 
Feel the wind that blows thy bark, 
What art thou that thou should'st care? 
One is All and everywhere. 

He Who caused, must control 
Universe, Existence, Soul — 
Strikes He through thy hand or mine? 
What He lendeth is it thine? 

Host art thou or a guest? 
Think'st thou such is worst or best — 
This is truth but that mere show? 
What is thinking? Dost thou know? 

Life, what is't? canst thou tell? 

What is ill or what is well? 

"Yea," thou sayest, "surely so." 

When thy "Yea" may mean His "No." ? 

He or thou, which, the King? 
If thou bid it "Soul, thy wing 
Preen not; yet a moment stay!", 
Would thyself thyself obey? 

Holdest thou that, apart 

From His choice, because thou art 



Now, thou wilt continue Then? 
Who, save thee, said this?, and when? 

Definite, held in fee 
Thy full-parcelled entity, 
Broadest of the mundane span, 
'Mid thy fellow-men a man. 

Not than they more nor less, 
Wrapped with them in such a dress, 
Fashioned for the needs of Time, 
Perfect as a perfect chime. 

Not the most delicate 
Midge which darts athwart the late 
Setting sun wears robe more fine 
Than this plasmic house of thine. 

Eagles' cloud-piercing sight 
Shames thine eyeball; and the might, 
Many a beast's which prowls or swims, 
Dwells not in thy feebler limbs. 

Yet, compared, weak and blind 
These, dwarfed by men's ampler mind 
To the lower grade of things, 
These the creatures, they the kings. 

Thus is thy sovran sphere 
Sure, conceded, Now, and Here; 
Ruler of all realms within 
Time and Sense and Kith and Kin. 



3 

Yet, because, so, is this 
Thou would'st claim completer bliss, 
Plead thou hold'st a mortmain bond 
On whate'er may lie beyond; 

That, estates feoffed in Devon 
Entail better lands in Heaven; 
That Existence guarantees 
All of these and more than these. 

Criest thou — "Never all — 
Days and years, dry leaves that fall 
Grains among the centuries' dust, 
These the aeons' flaking rust! 

"Lo, evolved from a clod 
Shakespeare's paragon, a god — 
Little less — who wrests from Earth 
All her hoarded afterbirth. 

"Lightning, light, vapour, fire, 
Shackled slaves of his desire; 
While his piston'd pulsings beat 
Fluctuant oceans to a street. 

"Penetrates; magnifies; 
By the Unseen bids the Unknown rise; 
Analyses; weighs the Vast; 
Moulds the Present; grips the Past. 

"Self debars, curbs, defeats, 
Spurns, distrusts, attacks, retreats; 
Swerves not from a high intent, 
Reason prince and instrument. 



"Rounded thus, perfected, 
.What a being lifts his head! 
Intellectual, shrewd, alert, 
Bold, inventive, apt, expert. 

"Scepter'd Will chains the brute; 
Lofty purposes transmute 
Base aims; Truth and Good confer 
Life's fair crown of Character. 

"How can this but persist? 

Heaven gleams through the human mist; 

Man himself the voucher be 

Naught less than immortal he." 

What is not relative 
To the sphere all have that live — 
Bird or insect, beast or man? 
Where inheres the faulty Plan? 

Yea, and this Intellect 

In its working and effect, 

Runs it not Life's common norm 

Through the lowest as highest form? 

Though our term 'instinct' rate 
Naught but man participate; 
Circumscribe creation till 
His alone Will and Free-Will; 

Arrogate, class, assert 

That mere animated dirt 

Which though brief may be intense, 

Crammed with palpitating sense. 



5 

Much from much, least from least, 
Bird or insect, man or beast; 
Take the rule nor spurn nor boast — 
Gauged thus, where and whose the Most? 

Durst we brag spire and dome 
Shame the ingenious beaver's home? 
Lovliest house of all is ours 
When the bee builds hers from flow'rs? 

That our babe's nest engirds 
Warmlier than the brooding bird's? 
Plant we cities? Yet the ant 
Planted hers ere we did plant! 

Trained to read air and sky 

Modern augurs prophesy 

Sunshine, storm, what wind shall blow — 

But the spiders truelier know. 

Wilt thou boast, "Man is found 
More than any true and brave!" 
'As/ not 'more' — the faithful hound 
Dies upon his master's grave. 

Or, " Of Earth's task-assigned, 
Men in patient might surpass 
All." All? No! Not the maligned 
Doubly patient doughty ass! 

"Beethoven, Wagner soar 
Music-winged to Heaven's own pale!" 
But the lark sang there before! 
Have they quelled the nightingale? 



6 

And, behold, these complain 

Not; toil for no recompense; 

Nor than we more wicked, vain — 

Power for power and sense for sense. 

Reasoned Will through the chain, 
In the small wise slaver-ant 
Milking captive aphids plain 
As in the wise elephant, 

These possess e'en as we, 
With the variant of degree, 
Their as our perception stands 
Graded to the need's demands. 

Life in One, Life in All, 
Under varying Form the same 
Infinite-infinitesimal 
Grasping-persisting Force and Flame. 

While our slow Knowledge grows, 
Difference lessening shrinks and shows, 
As we deeplier probe and strip, 
But one common workmanship. 

Dare aver we the bird 

By no grateful feeling stirred 

Drinks, nor makes her heavenward nod 

Dimly cognizant of God? 

Life of Life! Light of Light! 
Is our apprehension bright? 
Is her apprehension dim? 
Brightness, dimness, each from Him! 



7 

Perfect aims, perfect use 

Of present means — no abuse 

No default — to perfect ends 

Theirs, not man's who mars and mends. 

Theirs, the 'brutes' — man's the name — 
Yet for them will any claim 
That their perfect work hath won 
Higher life when this is done? 

Will such work win the Gem 
For us? then, it must for them! 
Take the rule nor spurning boast 
That our much is also Most. 

If this true use of powers 
Fruitful harvesting of hours 
In the cheese wherein we breed, 
Bring the beatific meed, 

Larger Life's larger rights — 
Have not these our kindred mites 
Gained, and worthily, the prize; 
Proved their 'title to the skies'? 

They immortal as we 

If thus immortality 

Earned as of desert shall bless — 

Final Justice can no less. 

Thoughts of God crystallized 
Into things! each loved and prized — 
Splendid, sordid, great, or small — 
In His heart Who fashioned all— 



8 

Giant-sun Sirius, 
Sight-defying bacillus, 
Universes trillion-starred, 
Tiny beetles' armour-shard, 

Rhythmic light's ether-chasm, 
Basal twin-cells' moulded plasm, 
Flower, or water, air, or sod 
Instinct with the act of God. 

Who may then draw a line 
Instant through His vast design 
Where the deft machine was wrought 
Running at the touch of Thought? 

There !' 'No, here !' 'Here !' 'No, there !' 
'Nowhere!' 'Somewhere!' 'Otherwhere!' 
'Never!' 'Ever!' By-and-by!', 
'Us, not them!', 'Not It, but I!' 

Babel! scan this machine — 
Built a nerve-meshed lodging, seen 
Causal-functive to imprime 
Separate consciousness in Timej 

Means whereby personal, 
Concrete, individual, 
Sentient being, in this phase 
Of existence, Self displays; 

Thus expressed, fitted, sent, 
Seizes on the environment, 
Energises, assimilates, 
Finds, adapts, perpetuates — 



9 

Tool, machine, tissued, sexed, 
Exquisitely interplexed, 
Gemmuled force-form beauty-waked, 
Breath-fired motor Reason-braked. 

Verge or core, heart or brain, 
The mechanic beat is plain; 
Mental taction open springs, 
Involitioned, prior things 

Record-celled counterfoils 
Which from convoluted coils, 
Fixedly recurrent flash 
At Association's clash. 

Vascular, afferent, 
Efferent, contractile, blent 
Processes where Impulse sways 
Inmost ganglions of the maze 

Which receive, store, transmit, 
Reflex-mandate-active sit, 
Ceaselessly — what craftmanship's 
Richlier noble to eclipse? 

Sayest thou "Here, supreme 
Ruler I."? Hast, then, no dream? 
"Thou? Not," saith the Hypnotist, 
"What thou wilt but what I list!" 

Ductile serve, direly learn 
Guileless-guilty thou canst earn 
Both the thief's or murderer's fate-^ 
Thine, that didst; his, instigate, 



10 

Yea, thyself tell the tale 

Oft exact response doth fail, 

Overrun or undershot 

Worked what thou commandedst not. 

Cramped to Earth's human dust 
This Machine, but thine in trust; 
Earth, whose orbit gyres the Vast 
As a gnat her air hath passed. 

Neighbour Mars, handmaid Moon — 
Not one function of the boon 
There shall stand — What of the far 
Infinite-myriad star on star? 

Grain in grain, jot in jot 
Human Might, from Time's first dot 
To the closing of the scroll, 
Though knit in a single soul. 

Reason, Nous, Intellect — 
Powers Will in that Might reflect 
Serve but in this narrow bound, 
Peering in the near Profound. 

Breaks the morn, dies the day, 
Dwells more beauty in one ray — 
While thou draw'st a breath — than e'er 
Men have compassed since they were. 

Conquests won leave behind 
Greater triumphs for the mind; 
Many a Darwin sharplier stir 
Science- Truth's keen scavenger; 



II 

Wider fields, deeper skies 
Yield their treasure to her eyes — 
Wider, deeper, still the same 
Connate-disparate basal flame; 

Knowledge grow, Music, Art 
Play a universal part; 
Wisdom and Philosophy 
Broider all the things that be. 

Yet what new instrument 
Wilt thou buy or else invent 
Which shall with thy deft Machine 
Pierce the Immaterial Scene? 

Wilt ascend, then, thereby 
To that 'mountain great and high/ 
View the city gemmed 'foursquare', 
Quaff Life's river flowing there? 

Hear the pearled portals rolled, 
Tread her street's transparent gold, 
Seize the angel's reed, and bring 
Back God's deepest hidden thing? 



Shall thy charmed instrument 
Measure the Divine Intent? 
Show the glowing spectrum-line 
Of Eternal Love's design? 

Wilt thou soar, searching, find, 
On the chariot of the mind, 
Like Elijah heavenward climb, 
Force, as he, the gates of Time? 



12 

Flaunt a self-vested crown, 
Drop, as he, thy mantle down, 
Shouting "I have found Him! I! 
Wherefore we shall never die!"? 

Yea? But, know, Egotist, 
Though we bear what doth persist 
That on neither these nor those 
Immortality bestows. 

What if some sentient Whole 
Merge the individual soul? 
Psychically intensified 
Pass to hear true Life denied? 

Consciousness hold her own 
But while reaped what she hath sown? 
Kept through thousand purposed ways 
But a moment's personal phase? 

Ay, although Greater Hands 
Raised to flame the soul's dull brands 
Till the wrechedest who plod 
Warmed them at a hearth of God. 

Vanity's postulate — 
Bound is He Who did create 
To bestow the larger gift 
Making good our own unthrift! 

Is the gift aught but fair — 
Sunshine, summer-ambient air, 
Blooms of wifehood, flower of man, 
Knowledge, joys, brimmed in a span? 



13 

Sacred boon! precious trust! 
Though amid its human dust 
Ne'er found true Life's golden ore 
Didst thou grope for evermore. 

Fleshly seed, fleshly root 
Pregnant of eternal fruit? 
What? did Paul catch glory's grace 
From the dying Stephen's face? 

Ere he saw, had not Light 

Struck him blind to former sight? 

Bethlehem to Emmaus 

Did the Christ's friends know Him thus? 

Gardener — Magdalen ! 
His own "Mary" taught her then; 
At death's portal e'en must He 
Quickened in the spirit be. 



Couldst thou roam sphere on sphere 
Understanding all, thine ear 
At the heart of things cognize 
How through Form they functionize; 

Near 'mid kenned mighty stars 
Pry, or where past visual bars 
Mightier suns and worlds but sow 
Lenses with a cloudy glow; 

Through the huge cosmic plan, 
Whorled sidereal empyrean, 
Were the last jot tabulate, 
Weighed and measured, on thy slate; 



14 

Howsoe'er Being bind 
Matter in accord with Mind, 
Into whatsoever mould 
Organisms are cast and fold; 

Shaped for scenes, armed with pow'rs 
Nowise predicable from ours, 
Elemental, simple-free, 
Marvels of complexity; 

Far beneath, far beyond 
Earth's existent creatures' bond, 
Punier triumphs than a boy's, 
Titan forces tossed as toys; 

Narrow scopes, dwindled days, 
Higher cycles, larger ways — 
This their stories' last intent 
"We are but impermanent! 

Handling no blest To-Be, 
Life's pale reflexes as ye, 
Grasping naught of ultimate 
In our myriad-serial state." 



Once a star leaped to flame, 
Wrapped in floods of fire became 
One tremendous whirling blaze, 
Glowed to darkness, died to days. 

This no tale forged for cloyed 
Quidnuncs, but a world destroyed — 
Instantly — before keen eyes 
Technic-trained to search the skies. 



15 

Theirs no Life's master-key, 
Creatures gifted in degree, 
Whom the Maker thence withdrew, 
Purged by fire, from Old to New. 



Keep thy soul! realize 
What of More the Less implies 
Though disjunct— a leaf, all trees; 
One, all blooms; a drop, all seas; 

One impinged ray, all suns; 
One molecular thrill that runs, 
Ether, force, heat, atmosphere; 
One grain, all worlds far and near; 

Incomplete transient states 
Of existence, That which waits 
Hid divinely deeper true 
Life abiding ever new 

Nor by bournes fettered nor 
Circumstance, superior, 
Vitally self-absolute, 
Life indeed both flower and fruit. 



For thy use drawn and bent, 
Chiming with the environment, 
Comes thine image from thy meat, 
From the oxen and the wheat? 

See the Light through the dark; 

O, be thine, that quickening spark! 



i6 

He conditions Who hath made— 
Breath'st without His will and aid? 

Who hath brought? Who shall bring? 
He is Love Who wrought this thing, 
He is Love, and Love is King 
Everywhere, through everything. 



FRIEDRICHSRUH. 

" My grandfather had very able councillors who had 
the honour to carry out his sublime ideas." — The German 
Emperor, Wilhelm II, passim. 

A gentleman, cool-headed, obstinate, 

And narrow-viewed, thus fitting well the role 

Of Prussian king, yet shrewder than the scroll 

Ancestral e'er contained — in this, to rate 

Himself the fly on Bismarck's wheel, nor bate 

Due recognition of that master-soul 

While on its broader aims and further goal 

But dimly following, scarce-appreciate, 

Till at Versailles its mandate, through the bland 

Badenser uttered, made an Emperor! — wise 

To know whose work the firm-clamped Fatherland: 

Where, now, no hand may deprecating rise, 

Nor tongue impugn for him who wrought and plann'd 

'Thou royal ingrate! He bestowed the Prize!" 



CORONATION. 

We British have not crowned Thee King, O Christ, 

Thou Son of God, though called by Thy dear name! 

Still worshipping our Herods we acclaim 

Them gods, not men; 'mid feudal lures enticed, 

By these self-glorying pigmies all-sufficed, 

We cry, while still Thou stands't betrayed to shame, 

"No King but Caesar!", falsely-loyal flame 

Their adulation, leaving Thee unpriced; 

France with a drunkard's trembling lip invites 

The old embrace; our kin profane Love's debt 

And offer incense on the idol-heights; 

They have forgotten, and we, long, forget, 

O'er freemen Thine alone are sovran rights : 

O thorn-gashed Brow that waits our crowning yet! 



CINCINNATUS. 

Far o'er the furrows 

He saw many coming — 

Consuls and tribunes, 

Senators, aediles, 

From Rome the loved mother; 

With the old courtesy 

Stopped the strong oxen 

Yet held his plow-handles, 

Looking back curiously — 

"O Cincinnatus, 

Come thou and save us! 

The foeman are on us; 

Now, near the city; 



i8 

Now, near the temples; 
Now, near our dearest; 
Come Cincinnatus, 
Be thou Dictator!" 
Then dropping the handles 
He let the reins idly 
Flap in the furrows; 
Went, of all Romans 
More Roman than any, 
To Rome the loved mother; 
Headed the legions; 
Beat back the foemen; 
Then returned quickly 
Where they had found him; 
And in due season 
Finished his plowing. 

Now, in our ages 
If a man conquer 
Afield for his country 
In fighting her battles, 
In bringing deliverance 
From loathed domination, 
He seizes on empire, 
Dubs himself Monarch, 
King, Imperator — 
This or that title 
Regal, imperial; 
Nay if some ancestor 
In the past centuries 
Once did his duty, 
Once served the nation, 
Now his descendants 
Known by his blazon, 



19 

Fat in possession 

Of his great honours 

In the name of the dead man 

Pick the bones of the living; 

Spend without earning; 

Assume without merit; 

Crass, irresponsible, 

Make laws unelected, 

By this or that scutcheon 

The dead man had taken; 

By these or those acres 

The dead man had wrested 

Through this or that harpy 

Sitting as Master 

On thrones and with sceptres, 

Usurping the royal 

Right of the peoples 

To rule by their chosen 

Brothers in council, 

By themselves only, 

For themselves only, 

Ruled, but the rulers. 

Yea, of the Romans 

Have we adopted 

What is but pagan, 

Cruel, and petty. 

O Cincinnatus, 
Would thou wert living, 
English, American, 
French, German, Russian, 
Greek, Norsk, Italian! 
Then would we hail thee, 



20 

Old Roman Moltke, 

Knowing thou would'st not 

Ask e'en his wages: — 

"O Cincinnatus, 

Come thou and save us! 

Lo, how these foemen 

Of our own household 

Take all the kernel, 

Leave us the husking; 

Roll in the riches 

Filched from the nation; 

Flash by in splendour 

While we are naked; 

Wallow in plenty 

While we are starving; 

Now and then fling us 

Crusts our own baking — 

Coin in the kennel, 

Coin which they handle 

Because in our nescience 

Ere the light lit us 

We paid their forefathers 

Wages in mortmain; 

So thus from the graveyard, 

The chancel, the chapel, 

The tomb monumental, 

Funereal marble, 

The dead hand yet grips us, 

The dead fingers throttle; 

Through these of their lineage 

Now they tread under, 

Flout us and fetter, 



2 V 

Greaten our burthens, 

Deepen our bondage, 

Forging fresh shackles; 

Strive to encumber 

Our march through the Present, 

Lest going Onward 

We shake off their talons. 

O Cincinnatus, 

Come thou and save us!" 



A SONGSTER. 

A dreary day of heavy rain 

Oppressing as a dull-gnawn pain; 

Horizon-blotted, smoke-sprayed, near 

As far gray-brown, the atmosphere; 

In drizzle through surrounding miles 

Wet slates, flushed gutters, rill-streamed tiles; 

A sluggish wind that nothing lifts 

Nor back the veiling vapour drifts. 

Alas, within as out the same! 
Bedimmed the mind's enkindling flame, 
The needed work in hope long planned 
Lags impotently 'neath my hand, 
The murky hour infolds my sense 
Till thinking is a vain pretense; 
New-quickened of the brooding sky 
Long-quelled regrets come trooping nigh; 
The will benumbed by humid airs 
Lets thronging in o'er-ready cares; 



22 

And in the thick, deed-strangling mist 
Hard is the fight to but exist. 

Hark! thrilling closely at mine ear 
A heavenly carol breaketh clear, 
A feathered singer perching by 
Raises his Jubilate high, 
Nor waking echoes of the tomb 
But lilting bravely through the gloom; 
With keener eye than mine he sees 
Himself embowered in sun-bathed trees, 
Wings warbling through bright space to rest 
Where Love and he have built a nest, 
With happy prescience he descries 
The glowing blue of summer skies, 
Flinging aloft the note that tells — 
Beyond the gloom — of blossomed dells, 
Of days to come when this hath passed 
Each one more lovely than the last: — 

And as triumphantly he sings, 
God's bird to me that solace brings. 



BIRTHRIGHT. 

" Now all questions of Parliamentary representation art 
over and done withy — (Lord Salisbury ', May, 1899.) 

Behold this blinded leader groping wide: 

As fable paints the bird of Afric blind! 

Or the dull clods who deemed Galileo lied, 

Or a smug idiot-swimmer whose warped mind 



23 

Claims he hath stemmed the seaward-sweeping tide — 
Its cosmic ocean-throb unmarked, denied. 

Nor goods, nor lands, but men compose the State; 

Man the sole unit, Man the aggregate. 

Spread thy rich acres far? art thou a lord? 

Piled high thy pelf? — therein is thy reward. 

Are not possessions power enough that thou 

Would'st filch the Birthright — his who drives the plow, 

Or his who stopes thy mine, or weaves thy wool, 

Or builds thy ships, or crams thy pocket full 

From the starved wage of an industrial plight 

Where a machine is gold and souls but dirt? 

Yet would'st thou hoodwink Ignorance, bribe or fight 

Weak Poverty to yield it? Though thou wert 

In Rank or Wealth and their encroaching might 

Ten thousand times ten thousand millionaires 

Thou art but one man, with no further right 

Than one man's voice upon the Land's affairs. 



SONG. 



In Life's halcyon weather, 
By Youth's laurell'd way, 
Love and I together 
Went a-making hay, 
Earth a Summer-shining, 
Time a roundelay. 

O our fun and folly! 
O the smell of hay! 
Lads and lassies jolly, 



24 

Jack and Madge and May, 
Love in kisses twining — 
That was Yesterday! 

For chill skies and breezes 
Years and Care array — 
Care that nips and freezes — 
Love and I grown gray 
Vow, to cheat repining, 
yet 'tis Yesterday. 



MOLENE. 

Be blessing on thee aye, Molene! for thou 
Didst bury England's dead, by Finistere 
Cast to the waters, and with reverent care 
Bestowed each bruised corse, and simple vow 
And benediction of thy bended brow 
In love o'er these our dear ones resting where 
French voices chime, French lilies blossom fair 
Above them, teaching all the nations how 
Despite their separating bars of speech, 
Or frontier lines, or waves that threatening toss, 
Or stranger thought, or ancient feud and breach, 
Yet in the Christ shall gain make up the loss, 
Yet may they, draw them closer each to each 
In Peace beneath the shadow of His cross. 



25 

? 

In that gray shrine of mighty Cromwell's dust 
Long reft, an Empress, princes, princesses, peers, 
And millionaires are met for fifty years' 
Increscent sovranty's unbroken trust 
To thank the Eternal King, the Only Just; 
Without, the trumpets' brassy clangour; cheers 
And smiles of commoners official fears 
From place amid the pomp discreetly thrust; 
But, further, though not far from that high stage, 
The starveling limbs by foul rags roped, his face 
Already aged with only three years' age, 
A tiny match-maker a little space 
Risks loss of bread to listen. 

Shall we gauge 
True Progress by the apex or the base? 
1887. 



ETHEL. 



We know her for a little child, 

Yet seeming when she turned and smiled 

Of more than mortal loveliness — 

A being only formed to bless. 

The light which left her large gray eyes 
Reflected gleams from deeper skies, 
The look which greeted those around 
With men and women ne'er is found, 
The laugh a-rippling to the sun 
Can scarce by simple maid be won, 



26 

The tones wherewith her voice had part 
Brought unknown rapture to the heart, 
The wavy curls which clasped her face 
Afar had drawn their wondrous grace; 
And round about her always flowing, 
And stronger, rarer ever growing, 
A mystic essence of delight 
Made Heaven be near and day more bright. 

What is it dowered us by a child — 
That holy sense still undefiled 
By grosser motions of the earth, 
Bearing no taint of fleshly birth? 
What is it breathes, now near, now far, 
Of things we know not, yet which are 
Hidden within we know not where, 
Akin to all things good and fair? 
Which feels a power like its own 
In childish mien and childish tone, 
And welcomes it, and prays the guest 
To lodge abidingly and rest — 
Is like a palpitating beam 
Of sunshine thrilled again to dream 
It touched a brother in the dark 
And knows at once the vagrant spark — 
Or as we look upon a face 
We never saw before, some grace 
Will strike an inner chord and blend 
That stranger with the dearest friend — 
We know not wherefore, name no name, 
We only feel, and feeling, blame 
Our want of knowledge to complete 
The gift of knowing aught so sweet? 



27 

I stand before her while she flies 
Along the sward in earthly guise; 
I stand before her while she sings, 
And wonder for the angel-wings. 
I wonder half-expectantly 
To see her rise, and smile, and flee 
From sight amid the clouds and stars 
Like bird from out her prison-bars. 
I know not why she should have found 
A home with us, while, all around, 
The melting heavens invite her hence; 
Nor what my earnest love's pretence 
Could falter forth to cause her stay 
Giving fresh glory to the day, 
E'en for a moment, did she spurn 
Our dull delights and straightly turn 
Away from us to some far spot 
Where mortal joys are all forgot 
In scenes ethereal — where the time 
Goes honey-handed through a clime 
Which we may not imagine! Why 
Should she not show she came from high 
And was not cast in human mould 
Although its fashion may enfold? 

I take her hand, as, then, she leads 
My footsteps through the pleasant meads, 
A newer grace in all I find, 
A richer beauty intertwined, 
A sunnier land before me lies, 
A goldener sunshine fills the skies, 
A lovelier crimson tips the rose — 
She charms it all wherfe'er she gfdes. 



2% 

O, can that hand be guiding me 
To sight where erst I could not see? 
And from the depths of those deep eyes 
What gleams from Heaven may on me rise? 

I gaze and marvel if the mild 

High Father's light dwells in the child; 

If her pure influence be a part 

Of perfect Life, her gentle heart 

Be beating true -through shade or shine 

With pulsings of the Great Divine. 



A NEW YEAR. 

Dear bells and true 
Ring out the hour, 
Far float the New 
From your high tower 
There nigh the blue, 
Time's loaded flower 
Dropping like dew 
Time in a shower. 

What do we hear 
Trembling away? 
What but the Year 
Parting for aye 
Seed-like in drear 
Moments or gay, 
Time falling sere 
SoVn in trie' day. 



29 

'Earth, Man, and Time,' — 
Hark to the chime ! 
'Earth is a jot, 
'Time soon is not, 
'Man hath the soul 
'True Life in trust, 
'Death but a toll 
'Paid by his dust 
'That he may climb 
'Heavenward from Time/ 



PESSIMISM. 

Open the window wide 
And let in the sun! 
Glory and life in a tide 
The day hath begun: 
"Ah!", and many have sighed, 
"Were the day but done!" 

Though these many have sighed, 
Will Joy be out-spun? 
Beauty and Love less afned? 
The hours bated run? 
Open the window wide 
And let in the sun! 



30 
WATERPOTS. 

Did not the Immortal Master of mankind 
Bid those who held His oracles "Be glad! 
Rejoice!"? did they not serve before Him clad 
In vocal joy? shall we as fools and blind 
Hearken the bardlets who would have us bind 
Our brows with melancholy — deem that mad 
The merry are, Wisdom is ever sad, 
The sweetest angel-song were sweeter whined? 

What is the whole world's face but smiling-round, 

And laughs up Godward! Do we please Him least 

Who laugh the laughter given us to resound 

In Joy — not levity — guests at His feast 

Here in Life's ante-chamber, reason-crowned 

Tuning that note which marks man from the beast? 



IN SODOM? 

("Lord So-and-So has written in a French publication 
claiming Shakespeare and other of our greatest souls as his co- 
bestialists") 

Do we dwell there, Lord God? is the loved land 
Thou gav'st us for our own and sett'st impearl'd 
The north seas' Gem before an envious world 
Become what were the cities thou hast banned 
With rain of fire — as doth that vile, dis-manned, 
Brute voice promulgate? Better she were hurled 
Miles down a sudden maelstrom, better whirled 
A cinder into space, our Britain, grand 
But in infamy— if the beast snarl aright! 



3i 

O God Who seest us treat the thief as one 
No longer human, and with sentence light 
Caress these swine, give us Thy grace to shun 
And stamp out into death the sodomite, 
Though each should slay a brother or a son! 



THE MIRROR. 

I see myself, and fain would gaze 
While strength can yield me sight, 
Tis joy which doth my senses daze 
To shine in such a light. 
With stealthy glances now and then 
I view my form made fair, 
Than ever man may seem again 
More fresh and debonair. 

At once, if held by such an urn, 

To ashes let me fade! 

What wonder then that oft I turn 

To mark my better'd shade? 

The wrinkling brow, the careworn face, 

Are decked in gracious dyes: 

Ah, love, thy beauty gives the grace — 

The mirror is thine eyes. 



CRETE. 



Magnificently daring Greece that hast 

With one bold blow the phantom cup-and-ball 

Six mighty Powers through murderous months did all 



32 

Jog fondly with a juggling caliph, cast 

To the winds! euge, thou mightier Power, at last, 

Heroic land, emergent from the pall 

Which sterner ages wove and caused to fall 

Athwart thy charmed, imperishable Past! 

Now, may a nobler Future on thee smile, 
For thou hast done what these had striven in vain 
With myriad wealth and force to do — struck guile 
And slaughter dead by dauntless action ta'en; 
Though but from one, poor, torturd, turbulent isle, 
Broken the bloody tyrant's cankering chain. 



THE SINGING-BOY. 

God heard the singing-boy and knew 
Him more than mortal worth, 
And bade Death go while years were few 
And take the child from earth. 

The singing-boy went through the fields, 
And o'er the country wide, 
Mailed fighting men smiled o'er their shields, 
An turned their steeds aside. 

In crowded market, busy street, 
Wild plain, or mountain high, 
His young voice, musical and sweet, 
Went ringing to the sky. 

Death found him wearied as he stood 
Upon a dusty road 



33 

That was beside an ancient wood 
Through which a river flowed. 

"O come, dear singing-boy, and rest, 
My lowly cot is near, 
There, sleeping on my ample breast 
Forget fatigue and fear." 

They fleetly gained the forest hoar, 
Death took his lank, lithe hand, 
And led him through an open door 
Into the Yonder Land. 



SONG. 



O woman windeth round the heart 
The tendrils of her love; 
The sighs that come, the tears that start, 
The mildness of the dove, 
These she imparteth as the sun 
Flings o'er some falling stream, 
In circling splendour all unwon, 
Fit hues to fill a dream. 

Then unto woman raise the song, 

She charms our nights and days, 

For her we would our youth prolong, 

And wear the poet-bays: 

For her we would renew our life, 

Gain gold enough to wed; 

For what is woman not a wife, 

But woman who is dead. 



34 
BRITAIN. 

What shall be sung of thee, O Land, 
Planted athwart the northern seas 
Thy tempest-battered cliffs command, 
Scorning the buffets of the breeze! 

From polar gloom to tropic glare 
Thy sons yearn for that hallowed coast, 
"Our Mother, dear, and sweet, and fair!" 
With glistening eye in tender boast. 

Thy standards greet from staff and mast 

The girdling dawns of every clime; 

Thy strong, terse speech hath conquering passed 

Wherever human voices chime. 

Thou art the peoples' proved defence, 
The fastness of true Liberty, 
Where Right is Might in Law and Sense, 
That whoso follow shall be free. 

High aims and power for high emprise 
Thrill through the magic of thy name; 
Thus panoplied thy children rise, 
Heroic shapes, to deathless fame. 

E'en durst thou fail — for faint of heart 
And flecks are with thee — on the scene 
Where the swift centuries fleet, thy part 
Is great, and greatly played hath been. 

See thou wash white thy smirched attire, 
See thou renounce the shameful deed, 



35 

Lest unpermitted to aspire, 

Thou grovel in the slough of greed. 

Thy welded myriads' fitting laws 
Be strands of Love's elastic cord 
Which loops the several need, yet draws 
All to one common council-board. 

Thou hast marched on tho' Hope were slain, 
When others faltered, led through fears; 
What ocean waste, what desert plain 
Daunted thy daring pioneers? 

This is the tale where thou art first — 
Well wrought, well won, well sacrificed; 
Tho' thou hast touched the thing accurst 
Yet hast thou battled for the Christ. 

And consecrate art thou to win 
The world for Him to ways of Peace, 
And Joy and Wisdom, that the din 
Of war, the rot of want may cease. 

Be thou found faithful to the trust, 
Crowned victor when, the struggle done 
And Time a shackle in the dust, 
Thou stand'st before the Glorious One. 



TO GLADSTONE. 

If thou hadst stooped from thy resplendent height 
To grasp the tarnished hoop-and-pearl which shamed 
The brows of Tennyson, and, self-defamed, 



36 

Bemired the lustrious laurels won by might 

Of patience, faith, obedience to the light 

Through strenuous decades, with, thus judgment-maimed, 

The dog-eared tawdriness of titles, named 

'Mid those who turn their victory into flight 

The clearer insight of a larger day 

Had named thee, reckoning thou didst weakly err, 

By mock suns led inexpiably astray; 

What History, now, is waiting to confer, 

O Peerless, thou hadst blindly flung away — 

Her grander meed of Greatest Commoner. 



A STORY OF SPAIN. 

I. 

"What!" said he, "am I not worthy of thy daughter's 

hand? 
Than Medina know'st thou wealthier, higher in the 

land? 
And my love for her is purer than the air that lies 
Round about the citron blossoms — deeper than the skies. 
And the stone she kneels on daily at the holy shrine, 
Is it not all worn with kisses? lover's kisses — mine! 
She is life to me, and dearer far than aught beside; 
Is her heart not mine? she loves me! why withhold my 

bride?" 

But the other, unpersuaded, calmly turned his eyes 
On the pink-tipped citron petals, then athwart the skies. 
Marked the youth with hot impatience how no sign 

appeared 
Acquiescent as old Gomez stroked a snowy beard. 



37 

"Gold is thine, my Lord Fernando, rank, heraldic fame; 

Kings may envy thee thy lineage pure; thine ancient 
name. 

Well do I remind thy father, true, unsullied knight, 

How he fought and fell a hero, champion of the Right. 

Greater 'mid ancestral greatness gloriously he sleeps; 

Poets chant his praises, high the monkish requiem 
sweeps. 

Well I know of such a father thou art worthy son; 

Like renown may rest upon thee ere thy day be done. 

And 'tis Isobel thou lovest; know'st thou maid more fair? 

Better, sweeter, kinder, dearer, wilt thou tell me where? 

As the angel-carol brought good-will and peace that 
night, 

So her very presence brings my age a rare delight. 

He who wears this gem must win her bound to my desire; 

Mine in prudence to protect her; youth is fume and fire. 

I who bear Time's crown of silver, look beyond To-Day, 

Fain would save her care and trial, smooth the rough- 
rasped way. 

Not for naught do men call Fortune fickle; thee she blest 

Freely as a favourite, and as freely may divest! 

Were thy large possessions vanished, thine since thou 
hadst life, 

I no longer left to shield her, how would fare thy wife?'' 

Here the old man paused and pondered, and Fernando 

said 
"If my riches fleet, a soldier I would be instead, 
Follow where the trumpet called me, sword girt on my 

thigh!" 
Sadly smiled the other, "And at home thy wife would 

die." 



33 

"I would sail the Golden Indies, rove 'mid storm and 

strife, 
Win fresh wealth — " "But, Don Fernando, how of her 

thy wife? 
No! and doubly no! what sheeny splendour shall not 

fade? 
But till death thy hands will help thee; thou must learn 

a trade! 
Then if fate should frown and lowly bend thy stately 

head, 
Smiling calmly at misfortune thou canst earn thy 

bread — 
Feed thy wife with food begotten by a conquered skill: 
Do this, and I give my daughter, eased of future ill." 

Then up started Don Fernando, blithely confident 
As the sky of noon with dapples of the dawn besprent: 
"Light I deem thy bidden ordeal, father mine to be! 
Strong my love for thousand dangers, were it asked by 

thee! 
This I know, that toil is holy — safe, should fortunes fail: 
Craftsman, tradesman, what, I care not; love will sure 

prevail ! 
Listen, while the summer glory gilds the orange trees, 
While hums on the mild susurrus of the balm-breatht 

breeze, 
While in meads which greenly cradle lies the lake at rest, 
Blue as though the azured heavens were sunk within her 

breast, 
While the world in grace and grandeur garbed with 

fruits and flowers, 
Like an Eden blooms before thee, joy in all her bowers; 
Listen, while above the great Creator hears me now, 



39 
Sees my heart ere lips have spoken this my answering 

vow! 
Never will I greet thy daughter, never gladly gaze 
On her lovely features in a silence which is praise, 
Never feel the radiant glances of her queenly eyes 
Pass into mine own while sweetly soft emotions rise, 
Never see the smile that thrills me to my bosom's core, 
Never take her tender hand-clasp taken oft of yore- 
Till I stand before thee boldly, trained to earn my bread, 
Competent and trusty craftsman— mark what I have 

said!" 

He was gone before the elder mouthed approving word, 
Gone, and left them in a moment, soul to action stirrd; 
Gone for many months of toiling, while the maiden kept 
In her heart his cherished image, thought of him and 

wept; 
Thought of him when up from ocean dernly crept the 

night, 
Thought of him when morn o'er mountains laced the 

dark with light, 
Thought of him when Spring, the mage, shot sap, set 

buds a-blow, 
Thought of him when wizard Winter sagged the pines 

with snow. 



II. 

Summer sunshine falls again upon the pleasant land, 
By the whispering south wind, heated brows are softly 

fanned, 
Lazy whirls move foliage depths, drop dust on thick- 
grassed leas, 



40 

Blowzy blossoms wanton with the thigh-deep laden bees, 
Oranges half hid in emerald bending branches gem, 
Purple oily olive-berries crowd each gray-leaved stem, 
Bursting with its yellow ripeness hangs the heavy grain, 
Clustering grapes give goodly promise for the wine of 
Spain. 

'Neath the cool verandah, where the jasmines' deeper 

shade 
Fell caressingly about her, sat a lovely maid; 
Fixed her eyes in unseen distance, while her ringers dwell 
Idly on the tuned guitar strings — it was Isobel. 
"O Fernando, my Fernando, why so long away?" 
Thus broke she upon the stillness of the dreamy day; 
Absently again she pondered as the accents died, 
Yearning with an increased yearning, and anon she 

sighed. 
Inward thought an utterance craving, soon she touched 

the strings, 
Waking into cadenced beauty plaintive preludings. 
Then uprose her voice in music ringing near and far, 
Tones which mocked the mellowed sweetness of her rare 

guitar : 



I. 

O come, my love, to me! 
The sunbeams flood the valley, 
Why, dear one, wilt thou dally? 
Unkind to tarry yonder 
From hope and faith grown fonder 

O come, my own, to me. 



41 

II. 

O come my love to mei 
The breezes breathe of Summer, 
Where art thou, tardy comer? 
The happy birds are mating, 
And I am sick with waiting; 

Then come, dear love, to me. 

When she ceased, while yet the echoes lingered round 
the place, 

Gomez joined his beauteous daughter, kissed her glow- 
ing face: 

"I was nodding in my chamber o'er Quevedo long, 

When to charm my drowsed senses floated thence thy 
song; 

For thy voice, a living echo ot thy mother's, brings 

Hers again to me, and from the grave in thee she sings. 

Ah! that thou didst never know her, beautiful and kind; 

That she died and left thee but a baby-girl behind! 

Agony, such parting hearts in mutual love attuned; 

Time doth never heal but only salve an aching wound. 

Yet shall severance test this love of women and of men; 

Will it perish with the Now, or Last into the Then? 

O, our Love has never faltered, each to each as dear, 

She in God's Beyond, I yet His human creature Here. 

In thy lighter trial shall Fernando prove less leal? 

Dost thou doubt him?" "Tis his absence bitterly I feel; 

Doubt Fernando? doubt the Saviour helps with grace 
divine; 

Safe I hold his heart in keeping, but — with him is mine. 

With a woman's wishful wonder how I long to know 

What he does — what trade may claim him — how his life 
doth go! 



42 

Is he now some busy armourer in Toledo town? 
Doth he on a massy anvil swing the hammer down? 
Doth he forge their sword-blades famous, leathern apron 

girt? 
Are the features frank and handsome smeared with grime 

and dirt? 
As a mason doth he deftly chisel into form 
Rough unhewn blocks, rear huge buildings, work 

through sun and storm? 
Is he skilled in curious carving? doth his cunning knife 
Render frail fantastic figures counterfeits of life? 
On the grained panel wreathen groupings fancy-wooed? 
Cut the filamented fretwork for the holy rood? 
Grown expert by frequent usage, gives he ample proof 
Of his ableness in loom-craft, weaving warp and woof? 
Doth he fabric downy velvet, or a rich array 
Of soft silks and satins donned by lord and lady gay? 
It may chance he is a goldsmith — shapes the precious 

mass 
Into bracelets, brooches, crosses, charms for lad and lass; 
Sets the flawless brilliants glittering high in diadems, 
Over regal robes of splendour blazons costly gems. 
Were the world mine, I would give it at this hour to learn 
How he fares and how he labours, when he will return." 

"Faith! this pretty guessing is a sport which aids not here, 
Nor shall bring us nigher surety guessed we for a year. . 
If his chosen trade be mastered, all is then fulfilled 
That a father's due concernment for thy welfare willed. 
Tinker — cobbler — what, I care not, quick to give the 

same 
Welcome warm to honest labour called by any name!" 



43 

"Tell me, father, doth this handwork need such art pre- 
cise, 
That to conquer, two years' toiling will not well suffice?" 
"Nay, I know not; yet believe me, he will never stay 
More than need enforces from thy side an hour away." 

Then they spake with pleasant freedom of the many 

things 
Perfect confidence will draw to lip from inner springs. 
Time slips filled with genial converse, day begins to 

wane; 
Evening shadows rest grotesquely lengthened on the 

plain. 
Running straightly on before, a line of gleaming white, 
Stretched long miles the highway broad till tapering out 

of sight. 
Lo! a cloud of dust arises from beneath the feet 
Of a distant laden mule train hurrying forward fleet. 
While yet far, the harness buckles flash back glints of 

light 
Caught ere lingering shafts of sunshine lose themselves 

in night. 
Faint at first, a tinnient tremble came, then louder grew, 
Clearly clinked and rang and mingled with the gathering 

dew. 
Shaken silver-sounding mule bells rhythmically chime 
Treble harmonies canorous tinkling all in time! 

Coming on like moving music, mules and muleteer 
To old Gomez' hacienda speedily draw near; 
Pass the loose-piled wall of boulders crumbling into 
chalk, ^ 



44 

Through the gate that creaked loud welcome, up the 

vine-edged walk. 
Now do Isobel and Gomez curiously see 
Each beast is with baskets burdened, diverse as may be; 
Baskets large and baskets little, baskets frail and strong, 
Deep and shallow, square and oval, narrow, short, and 

long. 

"Baskets! buy my baskets, Seiior! fair Sefiora, buy!" 
And his craft the basketmaker busily doth ply. 
Isobel starts, flushes, trembles, for the speaker's words 
Thrill her as a foreripe Spring may rapture starving birds; 
Strains to note him as intently o'er his work he bends; 
Marks that 'tis a broken basket dexterously he mends, 
How the supple withes are twisted — hears again his cry: 
"Baskets! buy my baskets, Sefior! fair Sefiora, buy!" 

Soon he reaches the verandah, and dismounting there, 
Quickly brings them many baskets, fain to sell his ware. 
Sun-tanned, lithe of limb, and handsome — simple mule- 
teer, 
Judged by garb; but mien and bearing clepe him cav- 
alier. 
Low he bows, the sparkle hiding of a happy eye — 
" Workmanship I warrant, Sefior, with the best will vie." 

Isobel had risen, scanned him; with a joy-lit face, 
Hesitating scarce a moment, sank in his embrace 
Crying wildly "My Fernando! Oh; at last! at last!" 
Thus in triumph had their trial perished to the Past. 

Rheumy age may slowly see, though hoary heads are 

wise, 
Gomez gasped "Fernando? he?" in dubitant surprise; 



45 

" Yes, it is! be praised, kind Heaven! Take her, noble 

son! 
With a father's blessing take her, boldly, bravely won!" 



"Isobel, my own, my darling! can bliss greater be 
Man's, than this that thou art smiling in my arms on me? 
Isobel! thy memory helped me as I strove and wrought, 
And the hardest task was easy when of thee I thought. 
Well I knew that toil was holy — sure, if fortune failed, 
Well I knew the prize was precious — feared not, and 

prevailed! 
Say again, tell me, my father, have I won her now? 
Won her as thou bad'st me win her? have I kept my 

vow?" 

"Ay! and as a man should win her, with thy good right 

hand! 
Noblest basketmaker— truest noble in the land!" 

They were wed, with faith the firmer, love the holier, 

purged 
By the separation, in a perfect union merged. 
Boys and girls rose fair around them, sweet petitioners 
Often for the story which their father, hand in hers, 
Never tired to tell, nor did the children tire to hear, 
How he went a-basketmaking for their mother dear. 



KHODINSKY. 

O knavish Tyranny, when shall be rent 

Thy yoke from necks of ox-like human souls? 

Still deals the tyrant out their own in doles, 



4 6 

Still biding* for his load their backs are bent, 

Still are their servile tones in shouting spent 

"A god's, no man's voice!", still these burrowing moles 

In prostrate adulation pay his tolls; 

So he may deign to smite them, well content! 

What bounds the dictates of his insolent breath? 

Must not e'en brother brother for him slay? 

Starve while in luxury he walloweth? 

When, blind ones, putting him and them away, 

Will ye perceive his alms are ever death? 

Witness Khodinsky's hecatomb for aye. 



THE BRITISH HYMN. 

God save the British States, 
Guard our wide-open gates 
Build Thou the wall; 
Grant that whate'er our land 
Brothers in heart as hand 
United shall we stand 
While Time doth call. 

Britons, true Britons we 
Where'er our country be 
Beneath the sun: 
Ind, Australasia, 
Canada, Africa, 
Wales, Ireland, Scotia, 
England — all One! 

God of our fathers hear, 
In our defence be near, 
To lead and aid; 



47 

Us, let no tyrant awe, 
Closer together draw, 
Equal before Thy law 
Strong, unafraid. 

Home-born or native-born, 
Dyed of the dusk or morn 
Dark-hued or white; 
One in the inner soul, 
One in true glory's roll, 
One in our work and goal, 
Freedom and Light. 
27th January, 1896. 



CATHARINE BOOTH; 

On the march, 14th October, 1890. 

In the pall of the fog she is borne 

To her rest; 

Out of darkness 

To light; 

Out of suffering 

To balm; 

Out of sorrow 

To joy; 

Out of warfare 

To peace; 

Out of London 

To Christ! 
O Mother, still living though dead, 
O worker, O martyr, O woman of God, 
Be it ours now to take up thy burthen and tread 
In the steps thou hast trod! 



48 
ALL MEN. 

O thou who by 

Thy garret-window 

Prayest, 

And lookest 

Into the myriad 

Billioned vortices 

Of worlds 

Which form His footstool 

Who created all, 

And thus in spirit 

Canst lean on them 

And mounting past 

Attain 

His very Presence, 

See to it, thou, 

That thou contemn not 

Those who varying 

From thyself 

Lean on such tinier 

Things of Earth 

As incense, 

Ritual, rosaries, 

Chasubles — they 

Who were magi 

Found His Christ, 

Yet they 

Who were ignorant 

Shepherds worshipped 

Led by angels — 

What is't to thee 

Or any 



49 

So ye come, 
They by these tokens, 
Thou by the stars, 
To Him? 



GERMAN BONDS. 

"Manifestly God has protected your Majesty's precious 
life. I pray to the Lord to continue to hold your Majesty 
in His gracious and holy keeping." — (The German Emperor, 
Wilhelm II, to Abdul Hamid, the Sultan.) 

Is it for this, O Germans, ye have wrought 
Out of a hundred petty princedoms one 
Imperial Realm: while every steadfast son 
Held life a trust not sole but joint, nor sought 
A personal but the common good, nor fought 
For self but all, and bore, the toil well done, 
Huge burthens, then inwreathed with palms thus won 
A single House, that, now, what ages taught 
Of the fell horde which grime the Golden Horn 
And leave the imprint of their bloody work 
Where'er they tread is by its later-born 
Throned heir contemned — as through a maniac's quirk 
He who should lead in Light trades God for corn, 
Blaspheming flatterer of a cut-throat Turk. 



50 
ROUNDHEAD SONG. 

(Before Naseby.) 

Me 'mid her sons doth England call 

To break the tyrant's lease, 

To burst the fetter of his thrall, 

To win back of his filchings all, 

Rather upon the field to fall 

Than Liberty should cease. 

And sunnier than the ways of Peace, 

And sweeter than when joys increase, 
The deadly strife will be 
If she but smile on me, 
If she I love but smile on me. 

Fair are the visions which arise 

Of Fame's reward for might; 

But dearer than them all I prize 

One glance from her approving eyes, 

For in my heart her image lies; 

Then sound, brave trumpet, for the fight! 

The Lord, great Oliver, and Right! 

To do or die her faithful knight! 

E'en death delight will be 

If she but smile on me, 

If she I love but smile on me. 



DREAMS. 

O years which only came to bless, 
However far, however few — 
Still Memory in her brightest hue 
Reflects your faded happiness! 



Si 

A merry boy I feel when fain 
Within the pageant of a dream 
I see things as they once did seem 
Ere manhood's care prest on my brain. 

Perhaps it is the yearning strong 
That goes and flits, and flits and goes, 
As thorns I grasp with ne'er a rose 
To robe in joy the days too long; 

Perhaps it is the wish to be 
At rest, that leaves not with the light, 
Which brings in visions of the night 
My hazy childhood back to me. 

How age-long, how breath-short since then 
The time! how changed my lot, and all! 
Is this — the world that still we call — 
The world I lived in, and its men? 

For, in the valley of my dreams, 
The vale I knew in years gone by, 
I hear no curse nor bitter sigh; 
Fair and unmarr'd the picture seems. 

And men in brothers' love are twinn'd, 
And women greet with smiles the day, 
Dear happy children troop to play, 
While softly blows the summer wind. 

Lo, Time is but a name for what, 
How many soe'er the years that roll, 
Can touch no token of the soul 
But parcels matter jot by jot! 



52 

"HIS MAJESTY." 

{London Newspapers) 

Grisly brand on Britannia's brow 
Sports His Cut-Throat Majesty now; 
Thick are corpses at Yildiz' gate, 
Hecatombs if we only wait. 

Empty promises, crafty lies 
Gives His Majesty, Sultan-wise; 
Words and writings, Marmora's waves, 
Dust for Europe, death for the slaves. 

Trust His Majesty, naught will fail — 
Prisoners perish and widows wail; 
Tortured, stabbed, and bludgeoned to death 
Durst Armenians yet draw a breath? 

With his bowstring on Freedom's throat 
Death's their portion who sound her note; 
Thus a newer walking the plank, 
Swift the current, swiftly they sank! 

Thus the heroine-mother's cry 
"Children follow! Tis but to die!" 
And they follow, unblenching leap 
Dashed to death in the rocky deep. 

He is ours, our very own man, 
Out of date, on a lower plan, 
Bar to Progress, cancerous blight, 
Foe to Knowledge, hater of Light, 



53 

Whom, when rotted, did we replant 
Grand Bashaw of our fair Levant, 
Calling time for the wise-fool Giaour, 
Phantom balance of phantom pow'r, 

Throned by our mutual jealousies 
Fears, chicane, rapacities; 
Fine-spun webs of the diplomat 
Hiding claws of a tiger-cat. 

Sassoun to Spaghank! Civilized men 
Give him respite to strike again! 
Are his perjured lips than before 
Worthier, smeared with innocent gore? 

Who hath wrought us this Peace with Shame, 
Bred such scorn of the British name 
Dying victims that name have cursed 
Deaf to Article Sixty-First? 

Potent, then, in our sea-going might 
Did we not check the Muscovite — 
Nor by pact, but by shotted guns 
Bind ourselves for the hapless ones? 

Have we reached — as they snarl who rage 
Envying us — the decadent stage? 
Newer Goths at the threshold twist 
Leadership from our swollen fist? 

Are we sunk a degenerate race 
Cringing down to a lower place? 
Prompted no more by Faith and Love, 
Cast aside like a mouldered glove? 



54 



Better Truth and away with hates, 
Better no chain on ocean-gates, 
Better concede the pious East 
Manhood to spurn a Moloch-Priest; 

Better than all, a new young State, 

Civic nations confederate 

By their sagest in sacred trust 

Lifting this trampled folk from the dust 

Britons, lead on! burn out the blight! 
Free these millions for Law and Light! 
Moslem, Christian — follow as one! 
Then, His Majesty's day is done. 

Then, he goes, and in blood and flame, 
Stand the need so, as erst he came; 
Stand the need so, about this ghoul 
Batter the walls of hoar Stamboul; 

Drive him over the Dardanelles, 
Force him back to his Tartar fells, 
Kirghi steppes and far Aral seas, 
Out of Europe and Euphrates. 



TO GREECE. 

Thy splendid travail shames us who allowed 
Nor venged a sceptred cut-throat's bloody lust, 
Sustained his blighting sway, crawled through the dust 
Before three kaisers, at their bidding cowed 



55 

With British guns brave souls who sought a shroud 

Rather than bear the yoke we helped to thrust 

Upon them; dared no more be great or just, 

Nor face for Right with God the currish crowd 

We freed from the curst Corsican! Again — 

Not one of Six but six in One — now play 

The man, thy few like Gideon's; as he smote then 

Smite thou and lead, e'en through defeat, to-day, 

That this our Infamy from mortal men 

Once and for ever shall be swept away! 



IN THE CELL. 

In the cell, 

Through the seventy-five bars 

Which fenced this hell, 

A prisoner peered to find the stars; 
Peered with bloodshot, wretched eyes 
Into such shred of the solemn skies 
As the curst tormenting of man 
Had left free from the iron ban. 
And he saw a solitary star 
Throbbing steely-blue — 
What but Sirius throbbing afar, 
Sirius, the star he knew! 
And he looked and longed and yearned 
While the moments went as years, 
Until the starshine burned 
Back the floods of blinding tears, 
Until his weary sight 
Could travel along the rays, 



56 

And lead him out of the Night 

Where was neither nights nor days; 

And the garment of the clod 

Fell from the soul, and Hope's hid tides 

Again surged up: he had reached our God 

And Father who abides! 

In a hoarse, tremulous voice he prayed 

"Father, may I still claim Thine aid, 

Although my trust has been betrayed, 

Though as an idiot I have played 

With Time Thy gift, till all is laid 

In ruin which else life's Best had made?" 

And again 

"Among men 

Once none more free 

From thoughts of guile, 

Hypocrisy, 

Excusing wile — 

No lie upon my lips, 

No theft by these poor hands. 

Why was this dark eclipse? 

Why stifled Thy commands? 

All for nought 

My crime — the gain I sought 

Fled at my touch yet lured me on 

Till power to return was gone; 

Such fool-built, vain desires were mine! 

What forced my way apart from Thine? 

And in this prison, see! 

Caged like a beast — denied 

My manhood — not by Thee 

But by my fellows' pride 






57 

Of so-called "punishment"! 

Hast Thou ever lent — 

Thou Who dost forgive — 

To any of them that live 

Thine own prerogative 

Of vengeance and recompense — 

To these men who primly fence 

The knouted doer of sin 

Legality's pale within, 

From the craftier thief without 

That he never feel the knout? 

Remember Thou my life; 

Dear God, what hath it been? 

One unvarying strife 

With poverty — as mean, 

As drear, as foul, as unrelieved 

By sunshine of success 

As ever slave who toiled and grieved 

Felt, as all failed to bless! — 

But a few hurried days 

Of freedom from the Care 

Corroding all my ways 

And making Being bare, 

Bleak heights of thorn 

And storm and anguish — stronger 

Growing with the hours, until the torn 

Gored feet refused to press them longer. 

Ah, God, I am not carven stone! 
How oft the view of gold the moan 
Of Conscience chokes ! I turned to tread 
The path which left my Honour dead, 



58 

And gave me but these empty hands 
Now stretched to Thee between these bars 
While my soul trembles on the strands 
Of light from this great Star of stars! 

Lord God, what is man's life 

Bereft of its poor own? 

My children and my wife 

Wait for me. They alone 

Were all the joys I had; 

My coming made them glad, 

Their love I had from Thee; 

'Twas all Thou gavedst me; 

I ask not more; 

With them 

I am content. 

But if 'tis o'er — 

If my one gem — 

Their love — was lent 

But to be barred 

From me by these grim walls, 

Oh, God, it is too hard! 

I can not so endure! 

What "justice" that which falls 

On those most true and pure? 

Not Thine! not Thine! 

Why, then, 

Permit vindictive men 

To shut me out from those who pine 

For my release? 

Oh, give the peace 

With them who are my all 

When once we had from Thee; 



59 

[Though poisoned with the gall 
Of Debt. If not for me, 
For them whose only wrong 
Is loving me! Shall strong 
Men thus oppress the weak? 
And churls their vengeance wreak 
On these most innocent souls, 
Extorting deathly tolls 
Because their dearest failed, 
And mired his hands, and quailed 
In Penury's cold sweat 
Before the tyrant Debt? 
O God must all be riven, 
Can I not be forgiven 
By Thee though not by men? 
!May I enter my home again? 
May I feel my Wife's embrace? 
And kiss each sweet child's face? 
What can it bring of good 
To any, that they remain 
Robbed of my fatherhood, 
Adding but pain to pain? 

As the snow 

Covers the scarred rock o'er, 

Let Thy compassion flow 

Hiding life's festered sore. 

All that I have abhorr'd 

Yet done, hide Thou dear Lord 

Who dost not judge as men — 

Let me be free again!" 

Then the star, 

Sirius throbbing afar, 



6o 

Passed beyond the seventy-fifth bar, 

And its rays were reft 

From the prisoned sight, 

Nothing was left 

To him there but Night. 

He turned to the squalid bed 

And under his young-gray head 

The filthy pillow grew wet 

With tears — he could not forget 

His wife and children yet! 

At last thro' deep 

Sobs racking his wasted frame 

He fell asleep; 

And lost his burthen of shame. 

For the Lord God is kind, 

Though how we may not know 

When we are worn and blind 

With bitter woe. 

Yet were He not more kind 

Than they the men and women who live 

But by His grace, and bind 

Themselves by law to never forgive — 

He were a demon and no Star 

Of righteousness; a fury, no God; 

No Shield, but kaiser or tzar; 

Nor Love, but hates' and revenges' Rod! 

And thus, the Maker of sleep 
Deepened it so that death 
Into an agonized heart could creep 
And softfier take the breath; 



6i 

And when 

The prisoner smiled 

To dream a loving child 

Sat on his knee, 

The mother mild 

Weeping to see 

Her husband once again — 

Behold, 

More precious than the whole world's gold, 

From the rack of that prison 

A soul had risen! 

And when through factory smoke 

The reeking morn had broke, 

And the brutal jailers woke 

The horrid echoes with stroke 

Of jangling keys, 

And the rusty locks creaked round, 

And Disease 

And Sin knew well 

Another day of hell 

Had come to burn and freeze, 

A callous-hearted hound 

Bearing a water-pan 

Reached the prisoner's door 

And flung it roughly back 

And shouted "up!", and swore 

He was always lagging and black, 

And shook him and sudden found — 

This wretch with the water-pan — 

But the shell 

Of a man 

In the fell. 



62 

TO FRANCE. 

I. 

See, France, thine ancient foe bowed low before 
Her god, Germania of the Niederwald; 
By caste and kaiser hemmed; helpless to halt; 
Her millions passing to the greedy store 
Of Armament; the bar on every door; 
Attent for thunders; tasting blood in her salt; 
The eagle bearing, yet by her own clear fault 
Inept for Freedom — she who so high might soar 
Shouldst thou be shaken by her dreams' alarm? 
Not thine to follow but initiate! 
That is thy heritage; the eternal charm 
Of thee is there! Quench this barbarians' hate! 
Revenge? Yea, best revenge — Disarm! Disarm! 
Then shalt thou stand the Greatest 'mid the great, 
nth April, 1895. 



TO FRANCE. 



■II. 



Hath, then, that vampire drained the very sense 
Of Honour till the clouds of crime and lies 
Of those thy bravo forger-generals rise 
To blind thy Senate, stifle Innocence? 
Justice is bullied dumb to impotence? 



63 

Thy lonely Bayard 'mid approving cries 

Struck cowardly by a felon? murder plies 

Lest Truth be heard? and, woe! the whole Land offence 

Paroles? 

Will the shagg'd Bruin thou cramm'st make bare 
A single claw to ease thy deadliest harm? 
Shall these or any whom thou hast or e'er 
Canst have, loose lost Alsace-Lorraine by charm 
Or foin or force from German hold? Forswear 
E'en thought thereon, fond fool! — Disarm! — Disarm! 
4th October, ii 



AFTERWARD: (E. B. S.). 

When beckoned clear the shipmate stars, 
And whispering breezes wafted on 
Our boat o'er shoals and sandy bars, 
The night was lonely — thou wert gone. 

And as upon the narrow deck 
We stood and watched the heave-swoln sea 
Fling to the harbour foam and fleck, 
Thought grew a petrel flown to thee. 

Then came the dawn, and wove the air 
With deepening splendour; stern and prow 
Blazed bathed in sun; day bloomed more fair, 
Yet brought me nothing fair as thou. 

Bright sparkles fired the cloven brine 
When sank sweet Hesper in the west; 



6 4 

Her eye's mild gleam resembled thine, 
And e'en the fancy hallowed rest. 

When faintly shimmering through the haze 

The cloud-like land appeared before, 

It seemed familiar to my gaze 

For thou hadst trod that stranger shore. 

Thus through my voyage though thine hath long 
Met shattering wreck and early end, 
Thy presence fills my heart with song 
And dead thou'rt deathless, O my Friend. 



LOVING EYES. 

How sweet to look in loving eyes, 
To mark the love that in them lies, 
To feel the life-blood at their fire 
Kindle in friendship or desire, 
To know, black brown or gray or blue, 
Those eyes indissolubly true; 

II. 

That, man's or woman's, all we share, 
Two souls made mutually bare, 
Their inmost secret through the sight 
Brought thrilling into tender light, 
That naught in either's heart or mind 
Remains untold unseen behind. 



65 

III. 

Ah, woe, to look yet in those eyes 
And mark the hate that in them lies, 
To feel the life-blood chilling there 
Before a foe's abhorrent glare, 
And either soul's once open door 
Impenetrable evermore. 



THE CLOUD'S COMPLAINT. 

A golden island when the morn had broke 
From night's gray cloak 
Lay trembling in the sky; 
An isle of gold, 
A cloud, when all is told, 
A floating cloud of gold, 
A floating cloudlet high. 

Caught in the sun's embrace, the filmy sprite 
Felt as all things may do 
Full pleasure there, 
Because the rare 

Warm sunshine thrill'd her through, 
And clad in rainbow light 
Her form erst colourless. 

Greeting the rays that bless 
With all her grateful powers, 
In sheerest love 
Of the bright beams above, 
She poured in the oped flowers' 
Nesh cups ambrosial showers. 



66 

Thus at the dawn of day 
The cloud her viewless way- 
Held with the flame-faced sun, 
And bathed her in his rays, 
His life-containing rays 
Of gold and purple-grays, 
Till soon, 

Long ere the glory of noon, 
It seemed as though she had won 
All beauty of hue in air, 
And, cloud no longer, become 
One gem, so magnificent-fair 
That the bird hung under, 
Carolling wonder, 

And the busy honey-bee ceased to hum, 
But turned from the crystal drop 
On freshened petals a-top 
To look at the lovely thing which had rained it there. 

When mid-day was past, 

And shadows were cast 

A-lengthening on hillside and dell, 

Behold! it befell 

That the cloud in her garb sublime 

Felt the menace of flitting Time, 

And lost the brightest hue 

Tipping one peak of her form 

With the imagery of storm 

'Tween violet rain 

On crimson plain 

And valleys amber and blue. 



6 7 

Then she turned to the mighty flame 

Lighting her delicate frame, 

And whispered words of complaint 

So feeble and fond and faint, 

That not a word 

Would e'er have been heard, 

Had not a vibration upborne 

The diffident murmur forlorn 

Quick as begun, 

And carried it on to the sun. 

"Oh why was I made 
To dwine in the shade? 
My happier dreams 
Are over, meseems. 
My hope in thy bright 
Effulgence of light 
To dwell and be dight 
Gone, and withdrawn the beams. 
Why should not the rose 
Coloured crown still repose 
On me now, as of old, 
When the beautiful gold 
Came over the mountain, and flashed in the dale, 
And far from the Earth, 
Its moaning and strife, 
Gave my shape in new birth 
Transplendence of life — 
Oh, why should that life ever fail?" 

Soon as the cloud's complaint was ended, 
A messenger ray from the sun descended 
Bearing reply — 



68 

"I have heard thy cry, 
Thy querulous cry, 

Which shameth the heaven our home! 
Canst thou say 
What thou wert yesterday 
Ere culled from the swirling foam?" 

No sound from the cloud 
Dusk sought to enshroud, 
Her despoiled iridescence fast paling; 
But again spake the ray to her wailing: 
"Know, then, frail child, thou art 
Of our Lord's plan a part, 
Whose hand drops dew and fatness o'er the world. 
Hast thou not had thy day? 
Think'st thou thy fair array 
Was best of that thou didst possess? 

Nay! nay! 
On leaf and blossom pearled, 
Thy tears of gratefulness 
Were grace unto the flowers; 
And through hot noontide hours. 
Thy form was flung in shadow that did bless 
Field, fold, and dwelling-place; 
He works in perfect loveliness 
By Whom in beauty's dress 
A blessing wast thou made. 
What though of thee no trace 
May see the morrow shine! 
Dost thou repine, 
A thing like thou, when man doth fade? 



6g 



This night will every drop thou own'st be tost 
Upon Earth's drouthy bosom, yet imlost 

A single atom — thou shalt rise 

To other uses fleet; 

Lands, circling seas, and skies 

In myriad guise 

Will know and deem thee meet." 

The old silence returned 

For a time while eve burned 
Into gloom, a faint-glimmering brand; 

Nothing heard 

But the bird 

Fluttering down to her nest 

And, in ceaseless unrest, 
The waves' drumming boom on the sand. 

Then I who had risen 
Above the clay prison 
In spirit, and heard 
Complaint and answering word — 
Troubled and weeping, 
Not vainly had listened — 
What secret is Nature's in keeping, 
Thinking, poor fool, to surprise; 
For, as darkness fell and stars above glistened, 
She cried with her million- fold cries: 
'The secret? the riddle that flies? 
Thus much shalt thou know — God is wise!" 



JUBILEE. 

("300,000, and there will be no surplus left." The Times.) 

Let the bells carol, shout in perfect joy! 
Extol the world-procession and cry, Hail, 
O Land and People! now may ye unveil 
The heart of gladness, put away the coy 
Impassive mien of men who loth employ 
The outward tokens of emotion; fail 
Not any whit! be cheeks now flushed, now pale; 
Be eyes now filled, now bright; mount, Pride! alloy 
No thought with private grief; ring, thunder-cheers! — 
More than because our Queen her former peers 
Out-reigns, that through her daughter's rare appeal 
And Lipton's princely boon, we know and feel 
On this one day of all her Sixty Years 
The poor of London sit to one full meal. 
1897. 



IN AUSTRALIA. 

Progress. 

O wondrous work of man who wills 
A modern garb to primal birth, 
Drives desert Nature from her hills, 
And vanquishes the Earth. 

His grasp is on the plow — he feels 
Creative motion, as our God 
The High Artificer reveals 
Deep paths before untrod. 



7i 

O wondrous work of man who stands 
Predestined, patient conqueror 
Of raging seas and barren sands, 
Nor wages cruel war. 

For by the finer arts of Peace 

All things are brought to own his hand, 

And Time a hostage to increase 

True Progress wisely planned. 



IN AUSTRALIA. 

Their Christmas. 

Christmas again! let us greet it 
In our Australian way: 
Wisely and cheerily meet it, 
Season of earned holiday; 
Season of rest and thanksgiving, 
Season of worship and mirth, 
Season which proves life worth living 
Here on the new side of Earth. 

Rather with us than the olden 
World is the time gladly born — 
Here where our Christmas is golden 
With the ripe, wind-rustled corn ; 
Harvest has come or is coming, 
Through the wide sections of wheat 
Hark, how the strippers are humming, 
Never was music more sweet! 



Christmas! and almond and vine press 
Green in the midsummer glow; 
Soon running over the wine-press 
Nectared grape-juices will flow; 
Christmas! when stars e'en the night time 
Make by their prodigal ray 
Poured through clear skies but a bright time, 
A shadowless dream of the day. 

Hither we welcome no alien 
Fitter for Europe's dull air, 
It is our own, our Australian 
Christmas, loved, jocund, and fair! 
No cruel winter hath nipt us — 
Banned from our beautiful clime; 
Under the high eucalyptus 
Hold we our festival time. 

Far ring our loud salutations; 
True fellow-colonists we! 
Folk of all customs and nations, 
One in the Nation to be. 
Hail, then, the lovely tradition, 
Peace and good-will among men; 
Blessing and blest in its mission, 
Christmas is with us again! 



IN AUSTRALIA. 

To England. 
Old England ! what may poet sing 
Above the beauty of thy name? 



73 

First in my love as last — 'tis Spring 
Unto my soul; thy deathless fame 
My Summer: all that she can bring; 
As though my very blood did ring 
Thy glories thrill the inmost heart; 
Be what thou wilt, thou hast thy part 
Of righted wrongs, of goodness done 
As few may have beneath the sun; 
Here, in the burning zone of Earth, 
To thee I turn, land of my birth ; 

England ! 

All men are nobler for the sense 
Thou lendest them of Liberty. 
This is the peoples' firm defense, 
This is the light by which they see 
The fraud of tyrants' high pretence; 
And yearn, thus lighted, to erase 
The mean, the evil, and the base; 
Till Right is Might, and following thee 
All nations under Heaven are free, 

England! 

Shake off the vile, dishonouring thrall 
Thy statesmen's littleness would bind; 
Still let thy children's children all 
Be Englishmen, where'er they find 
A home; then shalt thou never fall 
'Mid those thou scorn'st to hold thy peers, 
Nor hark the voice of teeming years, 
"Sons, daughters, ten new Englands — these, 
O Mother, driven from thy knees, 

England !" 



74 
IN AUSTRALIA. 

Moonshine Song. 

The wrinkled moon rose late at night, 
Her golden haze slid slowly down 
And wrapt the vales in creamy light, 
And swathed the hills from base to crown. 

Orion hurried to the west, 

The Pleiads led him on his way, 

For dimness fancifully drest 

In moonshine, aped the unborn day. 

The clouds which floated white and high 
Grew chill within the moony glaze: 
They dreamt of warm delight gone by, 
And waited for the morning blaze. 

The trees beneath the sallow moon, 
Mixed in the shade their branches threw; 
They wondered what was done with noon, 
And if it hid within the dew. 

The cock, awaking by mischance, 

Thought dawn had come, and tuned his throat; 

Then seeing moonbeam motes a-dance, 

Dozed off in muffling up the note. 

E'en tiny stars with moon-blurr'd rays, 
Forgot their shining overheard; 
And sharing in the common maze, 
I bundled home, and went to bed. 



75 
IN AUSTRALIA. 

Port Victor. 

Across the beach we watched the foam 

And saw the waters rise 

As if to drag us to their home 

And drown the very skies; 

Then threatening on with hissing crest 
They thundered through the tide — 
Behind Port Victor in the west 
Day's happy sunshine died. 

Fraught seemed the waves with awful doom 
When, in a moment, they 
Curled over with a sullen boom 
And scattered into spray. 

Oft, looking forward, thus we read 
Misfortune ne'er designed, 
And agonize ourselves and bleed 
From wounds made by the mind. 

Those troubles menace, this will crush, 
We can not, surely, beat 
The storm back whose relentless rush 
Spoils life of what's most sweet. 

At length we face long-dreaded ends 
Undaunted as we may, 
And, lo! o'ercome or found as friends 
They scatter into spray. 



7 6 
IN AUSTRALIA. 

* Wattle Bloom. 

The pink-eyed almond blossom threw 
Its petalled drifts of white, 
To the young grass a lighter dew 
Clung through the fresh Spring night, 
Gay wattle bloom hid blade-like leaves, 
The earth, now smiles now tears, 
Brought promises of garnered sheaves 
And long Australian years. 

'Twas August, and I saw the birds 

Dart through the sunset glow, 

And heard her sing some simple words 

Whose tune too well I know; 

She held a bough of wattle bloom 

And said "If Death divine 

Should take me first, let o'er my tomb 

Their yellow glory shine." 

Then, with her sweet adventure done 

Our childless home was thrilled; 

She smiled a mother with her one 

Great hope of Life fulfilled; 

I sat and held her dear, thin hand 

And watched her patient eyes 

Turn where the wattle bloom was fann'd 

By winds more soft than sighs. 

*A species of Mimosa, called "silver wattle" by the colonists. Iti 
August it bears racemes of yellow flowers which make the air odorous 
for some distance round the tree. The leaves are stiff, and in shape re- 
semble small blades or scimetars. 



77 

'Tis August, and above my head 

The fragrant branches wave, 

But underfoot, the lovely dead 

Lie in their happy grave; 

She sleeps, the baby on her breast, 

Nor lonely in the gloom, 

For shining o'er their folden rest 

Droops yellow wattle bloom. 



IN AUSTRALIA. 

The Unjust Judge. 

High on the judgment-seat he sits 
A rascal shielded by his place, 
True Justice scorns his tinsel wits 
And hates his brazen face. 

At once the perjurer's tool and friend, 
A counsel if spite thus have vent, 
Learn'd in the quibbles which defend 
The thief from punishment. 

Cursed underbreath by those he robs, 
Detested through a hundred towns; 
A jovial fellow, he hob-nobs 
With clerics as with clowns. 

Men may not openly proclaim 
His deeds, for precedent declares 
Fine and imprisonment and shame 
The hire of him who dares, 



78 

So let him flourish propt by Law 
Till tolerant peoples thrust aside 
The foul pretence of sovran awe 
Which wraps a tiger's hide. 

So let him flourish till he rot 
Like poisoned carrion, done his day, 
And if the Present scorch him not 
God grant the Future may. 



IN AUSTRALIA. 

Vale, Salve. 

No valediction for the old, 
No welcome for this newest year; 
Dreaded the tale before 'tis told — 
Once, doubly dear. 

Naught but the sterile, desert glooms 
Of failure mark the Past. To-Day, 
Naught but a sterile desert looms 
My future way. 

I can not cheat myself that Hope 
Is mine as long she used to be; 
And feebler grows e'en wish to cope 
With obloquy. 

So easy is it e'er to yield, 
So sure an opiate is Despair — 
Let others come and plow the field, 
For me 'tis bare. 



79 
They lie who say such things as chance 
And luck make men and women fail — 
I know they lie— and drop my lance, 
And doff my mail 

Sure as of old the venal powers 
Crowd where we struggling mortals press 
And guard their favourites— charm the hours 
To only bless — 

Beat thousands back, and blindly thrust 
Success on souls that well we deem 
But fit for crawling in the dust— 
Or do I dream? 

Are they recipient who deserve? 
Do those whom Fortune crowns as blest 
Beyond their fellows, never swerve 
From high behest? 

Are there no cheats who occupy 
The chair of office? is the hill 
Mounted by merit? do none buy 
The place they fill? 

Are those who toil with honest hands 
Those who pre-eminently hold 
The influence bred of spreading lands 
And piled-up gold? 

Are politicians clean again? 
Do they no longer upward climb 
Through Parliament o'er better men, 
Hoodwinking Time? 



go 

What is their right who sit above? 
Self-chosen? or our choice because 
Untarnished, virtuous, fired with love 
Of noble laws? 

Do they judge Justice to be chief, 
And Truth her essence? and no day- 
Lend to the formal, perjuring thief 
An equal sway? 

If this be so, then all is well; 
I have no claim to scorn the year 
Departed to the nether hell 
Of loss and fear. 

If so it be, and this young land 
Is free from gray, conventional death 
Of Right and Honour, I may stand 
And draw new breath, 

And hope again, and hold life dear, 
And know my folly cause of fall, 
And bless the Father and His year 
Now born for all. 



IN AUSTRALIA. 

Her Majesty's Mails. 
(Australianese.) 
The Surder an 'ero? Oh, he ain't no fool, 
He worked up the Nile, give them dervishes gru'l, 
An' smashed the Kurleefer to rights; but, d'y' see, 



8i 

He ain't quite the cheese that means 'ero to me, 

Becoz, after all, other men are in front, 

An' do the reel ding-dong-, an' bear all the brunt. 

They couldn't without 5 im? Well, p'raps may be so — 

But / laike a man as knows well haow to go 

On his aown blessed 'ook, an' w'en his work's done 

Has done something useful — not that kind o' fun — 

We don't care for it here. I say, you've met Jim 

Before — Jim Jennings the Mailman? No? That's him 

A-driging this coach — small — thin — one shoulder 

drooped 
With holding them reins and through bein' alius cooped 
Up askew on the box — these teams abaout pull 
A man's arms out o' joint. Well, there was a mull 
Made somehow at Cobar, and not a fresh horse 
Could be caught when Jim come by love or by force. 
The ostler got drunk, and the nags with a rush 
Had bust from the stable and took to the bush — 
So here was a pickle — for Jim 'ad to ride 
With mailbags bang forrud to Louth t' other side; 
A sixty-mile stretch through a desert of sand, 
Not a vestige of green as big as your hand. 
I'm Australian born, and just thirty-five, 
But, mister, no, never since I've been alive 
Was there such weather knaown. 'Twas that blazin' hot 
That w'en my ol' wamman took hold o' the pot 
To make tea, she left on its handle the skin 
Of the top of her thumb and two fingers! In 
The shade or the sun blest if 'twasn't the same — 
The whole country ready to break aout in flame, 
While the heat from the graound shot sparks in your eye 
Till you dursn't look daown. The birds flew to die 
On the trough in search of a drink, and, of course, 
Jim was fixed up proper for want of a horse, 



82 

iThe tits he had drove there were shockingly done, 

An' he then was full two hours late, for he'd run 

Slap into a stump, an' the haxle got broke 

An' 'ad to be tied, an' the cord was all smoke — 

That hot was the iron! So here he was — stuck, 

With a good heavy mail — two bags. "Well, ol' buck," 

Says Dawson the publican; "What 'ull you do?" 

"Do?", Jim says; "Go on, to be sure — just a few!" 

And Dawson he gaped with his beery-eyed stare, 

While Jim had the near-leader saddled — a mare; 

An' slung the two mailbags see-saw on each side, 

An' dusty an' 'ungry set aout on his ride. 

My Gord! what a day was that Thursday! A gun 

I'd left loaded aoutside was fired by the sun— 

The breach got so warm! Well, Jim Jennings rode off 

On the mare with them bags, a-trying to scoff 

Some tucker Bill Dawson had given him, and soon 

Went aout o' sight — mighty rough on the poor coon! 

He knew well enough that there wasn't a drop 

Of water between — so 'twas push on or stop 

Till bleached. He roused up the mare, which, though 

a brute, 
Was better than many a psalm-smite galoot! 
A nuggety beast — I remember her well — 
She needed no whip, never asked for a spell — 
Now, willing as ever, she answered his call, 
Her level best doing, a pattern to all. 
The sun set at last — dark a wee bit, then soon, 
A great, red-hot frying-pan, up rose the moon. 
The wind was no cooler and blew like the deuce — 
The mare's legs got shaky, Jim knew 'twas no use 
To keep on that night. He dismounted and walked, 
And led her, and patted her neck, and just talked, 



83 
And swore at the fix, as if she'd been a friend— 
But, Lord, he could see she was most nigh the end 
Of her tether, and had to spell her a while 
Begrudging the minutes that lost him a mile. 
Well, Friday was hotter than Thursday! The sun 
Whizzed up in Jim's face, and new torture begun. 
The mare at first starting had put on a pace, 
Like the jewel she was in saddle or trace, 
But pretty quick slackened, and soon was dead beat; 
Jim felt her brave heart pumping under his seat. 
And jumped off to ease her. He coaxed her along 
For a mile or two more, and hummed her a song 
In a strange, broken voice— his throat was that dry 
It rattled and hurt him. The sun getting high, 
Poured daown such a heat that his head seemed to swell 
As big as a maounten'; and right aout of hell— 
Thereabaouts— blew the smothering wind. Just where 
The sand was the deepest, the plucky old mare 
Shook on her pins— caved in— fell slump on one side- 
Before Jim could take orf the saddle— had died! 
Yes, there his companion lay dead as a stone, 
And thirty good miles to be covered. Alone 
In that burning desert Jim, choking for breath, 
Sunk daown by her side who'd been true to the death, 
Then started to walk it, but back orfen cast 
His glance on the animal game to the last. 
He trudged along up to his ankles in sand. 
The sun sometimes blistering the back of 'is 'and, 
And so over-baked with the heat and the drouth, 
His tongue rasped against the inside of his mouth 
As dry as a bone and as black as your hat; 
While, if he looked up, he grew blind as a bat, 
The glare was that fearful! But, spurting a lot, 



8 4 

He made some five miles, then stopped short as if shot, 
Letting aout with a groan, and biting his nails, 
"My Gord! I've forgotten Her Majesty's mails!" 
He'd left the two bags by the mare ! 

It meant back 
Five miles — and five more on that terrible track. 
No shirking with Jim, he turned straight away there, 
And dragged the two mail bags from under the mare. 
Her Majesty's mails! Bet y' few bigger men 
Would have shouldered them bags — and pushed on 

again ! 
But his duty a'course — and that's what he thought 
As over each inch of the desert he fought, 
His feet getting skinned and his eyes in a mist — 
His blood on the boil, he could hear as it hissed, 
Sizzling up past his ears to surge in his head — - 
He stuck to Her Majesty's mails — as V said — 
Like a donkey with panniers, one slung each side — 
All that day, all that night; some hours mooching wide 
Of the track after creeks which seemed to flow near 
Full of water — in fact, Jim got dreadful queer 
And crooked, and fainty, an' somehow fell daown 
With Her Majesty's mails raound his neck done braown. 

He never could tell how long that time might be, 
But rousing up sharp know's he's under a tree, 
And wonders whatever has brought the mails there, 
And why he's afoot, and what's wrong with the mare? 
Conundrums like these Jim soon felt weren't the thing; 
But as he's not equal to luggage, he'll sling 
Her Majesty's mails in the tree — which he did; 
And tramped it again with no need of a skid. 
By George, he was glad when the sunset come raound ; 



85 

Like a broken-backed snake he crawled on the graound. 
Some freshly-spread road-metal gashed up one hand 
And scraped his knees badly — Jim knew that the sand 
Was gone — he was nearing the township at last! 
How slowly the white-painted milestones were passed! 
He pulled himself on, bleedin' naow from the cuts, 
An' got into dust lying deep in the ruts 
Quite coopered. 

That moment — but faint — horses' feet 
Seemed to sound far away. No music so sweet 
Had Jim ever heard. Quick he shoves daown 'is 'ead 
To lissen. Yes! no mistake! Then came a dread: 
He'd left Jane (the Missis) in rather a fix, 
An' no cash in the house for her's or for Dick's 
(Dick's his child) bit of mourning — ah, if he slid 
Who'd fetch lolly home for the poor little kid! 
Next, he felt himself going asleep, 'coz he must. 

When he woke-like, a buggy and pair had just 
Got close up, and the horses, seeing Jim, shied; 
Then the driver jumps aout and stoops alongside. 
''Who the devil are you?", says the chap, "What ails?' 
Croaks Jim: "Up a tree with Her Majesty's mails!", 
And fell back delirious, and stopped so a week, 
Nor isn't right yet. 'Twas a damned narrow squeak! 
Did they get the bags? Rather! Jim tied 'em so 
As rats couldn't fetch 'em, or wind shake 'em low. 
What reward did he pocket? Well, nothing great — 
I think they forgave him the fine for bein' late. 
The Surder deserves a fat cut off the joint, 
And so does Jim Jennings — but that's not the point. 



86 
IN AUSTRALIA. 

The Commonwealth. 

As 'mid a folk betrayed some gracious Plan 
Which Boldness and Discretion both commend 
To widen civic ways, and make an end 
Of gross disablement and selfish ban 
Of larger air and greater good to man 
By suffered Privilege, 

being tried, will spend 
Itself to crush one monstrous Wrong, then bend — 
As 'twere a stream sucked in the sand — through span 
Of Time effectless, for that those who led 
Grew blind or false, 

yet lives in noble stealth, 
To rise more heavenly-potent when is fled 
The trammeling dark, and stand in federal Health 
And Light expanding with the centuries' tread — 

So risen, advance! O herald Commonwealth. 



YESTERDAY. 

"Yesterday," my father said, 
"I stood, a bairn of three, 
And saw my baby-brother's head 
Sponged on his nurse's knee." 

White and thin my father's hair, 
Deep wrinkles grooved his face, 
Long parted with the seasons were 
That dealt him youthful grace. 



%7 

"Yesterday?" "Ay, Yesterday; 
And in my four-brick trap 
I caught a gaudy-feathered jay 
And ran, a little chap 

"Smaller than yourself, to take 

My prize — and let it slip 

Through flurrying fingers, whirring make 

For a tall pear-tree's tip. 

"Then I watch my mother close 
Her bonnet-strings, and view 
And wonder how her peerless nose 
The glass dare set askew. 

"Thirty, forty years may go, 
You to your child will say 
T saw such things, did so-and-so, 
A boy, but Yesterday.' 

"Larger Life than this we live 
Shall years which veil deny? 
Ah, no, thank God! for thus we give 
To vapouring Time the lie." 



ENGLAND'S GREATNESS. 

What paeans of England's greatness and her gold 
Are dinned in this world's ear! how she hath won 
Wide "Empire"; how to her Wealth's rivers run; 
How Commerce is her slave; how multifold 
Her manufactures; how since times of old 



88 

She rules the waves; how of past nations none 
Such greatness wore! Unto the setting sun 
Is there not splendour upon splendour rolled, 
Which are God's warning glories of the air 
That Night must fall ere a new day begin? 
Shall, England, thine be trappings tawdry-fair, 
Mere sign of darkness and decay within? 
Too great thou art! for greater never were 
In Drunkenness, in Poverty, and Sin. 



SHE SHINES UPON ME. 

She shines upon me like a star 
Which, while the heavens are black with night, 
Breaks through some cloud-rift from afar, 
And glows and gives its cheering light. 

She shines upon me like a star, 
Serenely bright, or sun or shade 
The steadfast ray no bane may bar, 
The fulgent splendour ne'er doth fade. 

She shines upon me like a star, 
Still shining on through time and wrack; 
Should wrong entice and seek to jar 
The twined cord, she calls me back! 

She shines upon me like a star 
Which beams and brightens while I pray 
No chance may change, no memory mar 
Our love that grows with every day. 



89 
NIMMER ZURUCK. 

I do not come back, 
Thy guard is too slack, 
Thy prudence too blind, 
Thy smiles are too kind, 
Thy hand is too soft, 
Thy glances too oft 
Are flashing my way — 
They pierce me and sway, 
Thine eyes are too black, 
Thy lips are too red, 
Too near me thy head, 
Thy voice too divine; 
Thy lovely life's track 
Should I intertwine 
Were coupled with wrack, 
Spilled all the clear wine 
Of Joy's fecund vine; 
There's naught thou dost lack 
To charm all of mine — 
Retain what is thine; 
I do not come back. 



DISCIPLESHIP. 

Their tongues be frozen who would regulate 
The world and all To-Day by the dry saw 
Of some dead dogmatist, and caw his caw, 
Re-bray the petty pribbles of his pate, 
Decipher his crabbed scratchings on a slate 
As though the musty fudge were Natural Law 



9 o 

And Time were locked in his decrepid paw 
And he had gauged the Future and was 'Fate'! 
Thus may we never more play Cromwell's part 
And strangling fingers wrench from subjects' throats 
But, patting tumid paunch — once, valiant heart! — 
Croak, masters of the mightiest fleet that floats, 
"'Unjustifiable war, to end their smart' — 
Climb down (good phrase!) — great Hogge, the Premier 
quotes". 



THREEFOLD. 

What is the cry of the World, 
Writ on its banner unfurled, 
Borne by the living and dead, 
Open and flung to the skies, 
Blazoned by groaning and sighs 
That the grim words may be read 
By God and the angels o'erhead? 
Poverty! Hunger! Poverty! Hunger! 
That is the cry of the World. 

What is the cry of the Age, 
Wailed by the fool as the sage 
Out of the heart-break and moil 
Sprung from the joy-barren land 
Stretching in deserts of sand 
Yielding to effort no spoil 
But folly and failure and toil? 
Poverty! Hunger! Poverty! Hunger! 
That is the cry of the Age. 



9i 

What is the cry of this Life, 
Husband, or children, or wife, 
Naught theirs on Earth of her best, 
Breathing because that they must — 
Choked with their sobs and her dust, 
Glad to sink back on her breast, 
Glad, if to die mean to rest? 
Poverty! Hunger! Poverty! Hunger! 
That is the cry of this Life; 
Poverty! Hunger! Poverty! Hunger! 
That is the cry of the Age; 
Poverty! Hunger! Poverty! Hunger! 
That is the cry of the World. 



WITH THEE IS TO-MORROW. 

Creator and King 
With Thee is To-Morrow; 
Thou only canst bring, 
We only can borrow; 
Thou only dost live, 
Thou only canst give, 
With Thee is To-Morrow; 
For we are but naught 
And we have not aught 
But hunger and sorrow, 
But sin and its chain, 
But folly and pain, 
But dust and the ages, 
But Earth and its wages; 
And puny and vain 
We wander in night 



$2 

And stumble enticed, 

Shamed, wretched, adrift, 

Unpitied, unpriced — 

But Thou art all Light, 

But Thou art all Gift; 

Thou hast given us Thy Christ; 

If we will but borrow, 

To Thyself Thou wouldst lift 

Us, hunger, and sorrow; 

With Thee is To-Morrow. 



IN THE CITY. 

In the city, 

Down a swarming street, 

At the cool night's busiest hour, 

Thrilled with love and pity, 

A poet passed along, 

Bearing in his hand a flower 

Exhaling odour sweet; 

And the air around him beat 

The melody of song. 

He thought of the dear wife 
Who had plucked the flower, as dew 
Fell and the stars began to shine 
On the garden of his home anew; 
'Thank Heaven that home is mine! 
Thank Heaven for my life!" 

As the praise came half aloud, 
Wirigeti from the heart's clo'Se bbwef, 



93 

Through his lips, and the debt 

Of Love made him rejoice, 

A strumpet in the crowd 

Flaunting, stopped, and met 

Him, and pled in her raucous voice 

"My dear, give me that flower!" 

Seeming to crave it. 

Gently he gave it, 

Pained with compassion, knowing well 

The fierce insistent hell 

Whose coals her torn feet ever trod; 

And she smelt the flower, and cried "My God! 

This is the flower I used to curl 

And twine about my hair 

When a tiny girl, 

And my days were fair, 

And my mother smiled 

In pride of her child — 

I was a child once! And this flower 

Oh, what is its power?" 

And she burst into floods of weeping 
And kissed the flower, and, keeping 
It near her brandy-bleared eyes, 
Silenced by shattering surprise, 
Went back to her filthy den. 

And one of the fouler men 
By whom her soul was drowned 
In sin, and honour made jest, 
Rose up from the reek 
Of his orgies and found 



94 

Her stone-dead 

On the bed, 

And the trail of those tears 

Wet still in the paint on her cheek; 

With the poet's flower on her breast, 

Past trouble, past pity, 

Past turbulent years, 

And at rest 

In the City. 



GERMAN ARMS. 

When brow-to-chin-creased Moltke throttled Gaul 
With Bismarck's Teuton-Titan docile bent 
To work that master-strategist content, 
Was not the astounding triumph more than all 
Since brave Arminius brake the Roman wall 
By German Arms brought to accomplishment — 
This, that for Germany from France hath rent 
Milliards and provinces? 

Yea, did befall 
Thereto that these for France wrought better things: 
Drove the last emperor from her burthened sod, 
Freed her for ever from the clutch of kings, 
Made clear the path where late her sons have trod 
'Neath ordered Liberty's calm-folded wings — 
Beyond the dreams of men the deeds of God! 



95 
A NOCTURN. 

Where is my love who slumbered 
While the full moon whitened the street, 
When through her window came music 
Upborne in melody sweet. 

Where is my love who wakened 
When the music crept to her brain, 
And made the still midnight quiver, 
And held her heart in the strain. 

Where is my love who lifted 
The blind with her ivory hand, 
To see One whiter than moonlight 
A-playing before her stand. 

Playing his harp of beryl 

Which swelled with glitter and glare 

And dimmed the moonbeams and lent her 

Ineffable glory there. 

Where is my love who listened 
And leaned to the stranger soul, 
And saw him harping his music, 
And heard his harmonies roll. 

Where is my love who followed 

His music piercing the sky, 

And vanished from earth and women, 

Nor giving Regret a sigh? 

Where is the One who drew her? 
And where is the strain she heard? 



9 6 

Nothing I hear of that music 
From brook, or forest, or bird. 

Where is the land contains it? 
The ocean, or sky's blue dome? 
That harper was more than human, 
And dwells in a far-off home. 



THE SONG OF THE POET. 

The poet sang of a golden time, 

In the golden sunlight standing, 

When the world was young, in the olden time, 

And the people heard his melodies chime 

Their tones with the echoes banding; 

Men listened rapt as he struck the strings, 

And women wept at their whisperings, 

But the Poet stood in that olden time 

While the drones were drowsily humming, 

In Eld's perfect summer, the fair golden prime, 

And sang of the time that was coming. 

Then winter came, and the world grew old 

With a selfish wisdom darkened, 

But the poet rose and yet sweet as bold 

In a deepened tone his melody rolled, 

The angels bent low and harkened; 

Men would not listen and hurried past, 

For snows fell thick in a biting blast, 

And the women heard but to mock afar, 

Or to scoff "The singer is mumming!" 

But loud pealed that song like a rune from a star, 

And carolled the time that was coming. 



97 

With Earth's free guerdon of Age and Care 

Is the poet still a-singing, 

Though his hands are empty, his limbs half-bare, 

Yet his heart's aflame despising despair, 

His voice a clarion ringing; 

Men give for largess the rankling jeer, 

And women shut both the soul and ear; 

They will cry "Why babble these foolish things? 

Now forbear thy vagabond strumming!", 

But facing the Master Who taught him he sings 

The Song of the Time that is Coming. 



"THINE ARE MINE." 

From Childhood tender 
Through manly splendour 
To life's surrender 
Thou Love Divine; 
Thou meek and lowly 
Dear Saviour holy, 
For aye and wholly 
Let us be Thine. 

O sweet indwelling 
All bliss excelling, 
Beyond our telling 
Thou Love Divine; 
Through Joy's emotion, 
Through Sorrow's ocean, 
Through Faith's devotion 
Let us be Thine. 



9 8 

Through Conscience pealing, 
In Thought and Feeling 
Thyself revealing 
Thou Love Divine; 
In Time and Trial, 
Through Doubt's denial 
To Heaven's espial 
Let us be Thine. 



Death and the Devil gambled for my soul 

While I stood looking impotently on — 

And for what trifling value had they staked it! 

I shook with fear — was it decreed on high 

That, after all, one of these two would win me? 

A hand came through between and snatched my soul 

Away — a hand all deeply scarred as though 

A nail had sometime pierced it. Then, I knew. 



LABOUR. 

"All ye are brethren," said the Christ, and though 
Scorn capped the ages, is this age compelled 
To own He knew, Who spake no lie and held 
The key of ours as those of long ago, 
Foreseeing how the patient drudge ground low 
Beneath the iron yoke himself would weld — 
Kept doltish, drunken, servile, blinded, celled — 
One day would waken into knowledge, throw 
Aside his fetters, clench his giant fist, 
Uprear his toil-stooped bulk, grown well aware 
The whole world but his anvil, use, then twist 



99 



His brute-impulsions to accord with fair 
Designs of Law and Love, self-won insist 
-Give me my brotherhood's portion, thy co-heir! 
1893. 



DAGMAR'S CROSS 
How the Cross was found. 
Fierce Ottocar the King had one fair child, 
'Mid his fair realm's fair women the shining pearl, 
For not alone the roses, shamed to vie 
The bloom upon her cheek, blushed ruddier depths 
Though vainly wher she passed, and bending ferns 
Strove enviously to catch the rounded lines 
Which graced her lissom form; while rippling beck 
Raved babbling on, because her laughter rang 
In sweeter, clearer sounds; and, drawn from high 
The sunbeams deemed that all the heavenly blue 
Lay clustered in her eyes, and hid themselves 
Within the meshes of her silky hair, 
But, happy maiden! outward comeliness 
Was matched by surer beauty of the mind. 

A princess born, no humble peasant girl 

Held lowlier due estate of womanhood. 

Deep in her soul had sunk the Christ's command 

That we should love each other as ourselves, 

And made her doubly royal by the right 

She claimed and used to succour the distressed, 

To fend with woof of tenderest charity 

Most delicately woven, the snows of life, 

Thick-falling ever, from the Father's poor. 

LofC. 



100 

This was the maid who left her Bohmer sire 
Sweetly obedient to his politic will, 
Bearing the freight of eighteen happy years, 
And sailed athwart the sea to be the Queen 
Of Valdemar the Victor, Denmark's king. 

Then when she gained old Ribe, all the land 
Burst into flame of welcome, and the folk 
Wrapt up their love and worship in a word — 
Dagmar, Gem of the Day, Joy of the Danes, 
Brightest and purest of the things which are — 
All this and more that word for them contained. 

Ay! but a fisher fishing through the night, 
Heard sounds of woe, and saw a merman rise 
Green-bearded from the brine, and sobbing wail 
"The blossoms die when that the fruit hath come! 
So, Dagmar! Dagmar!" More was uttered then 
Not meant for human kenning, which scream-like passed, 
And pierced the darkness, flying far along, 
While the wan creature sadly sank to rest. 

What year had e'er a day like that which broke 
And reigned and dwined in joy when Valdemar 
And Dagmar wedded? Then, as though the bells 
Had shaken down the light in jewel-rain 
The dew-drop shimmered trembling on the flowers 
Whose odorous breath updrawn to lattices 
That fenced the bridal-chamber, drifted through 
And mingled in the maze of honeyed dreams. 

Morn, silver-sandalled, stole upon the hills, 
Mantled till grown to noon's magnificence, 



101 

Where by his girl-queen lingering-, Valdemar 

Spake in the custom of a fleeted age 

"What shall I give thee for a morning-gift, 

Rose of the world, who gave thyself to me?" 

Full oft strong men shun deeds weak women dare, 

And such a deed her answer: 

"O, my King, 
My husband! what am I to urge a boon 
Of thee, although thy generous lips provoke 
The asking? Love, hast thou not raised me up 
To sit beside thee on thy splendid throne? 
Hast thou not made me Queen? can human hand 
Give human heart a fairer bounty? Yea, 
If it may be, doubt not my morning-gift 
Shall bind thy brow with laurels more sublime 
Than any wreathed by gauntleted Victory. 
Thy look emboldens me — that thou would'st loose 
The prisoners fettered here because they fought thee, 
And lift the plow-tax from thy patient hinds — 
Thus, in these things, I crave my morning-gift." 
Her earnest face and ardent tones made bold 
Appeal for those locked lips and stifled hearts; 
Yet had she spoken vainly. Valdemar, 
Surprised, loath to deny, thrilled by the grace 
Which winged her words, gave answer — "Dagmar, mine, 
Fitly our Danes count thee their chiefest joy! 
Myself miswrought in purpose do I deem 
Because affairs of State and Government 
Are heedless to the music of thy prayer. 
How could thy eighteen sunny summers tell 
Of cares which wrinkle royal brows, or how 
Inform thy mind what reasons may compel 



102 

Chains on an enemy, tribute from friends? 
This I remember and am comforted." 
Here, quick to guess his meaning did she cry 
"If not for Dagmar' s love, for love of Christ !" 
"For love of Christ I raised my banner oft 
Where savage tribes deride the Sacred Name, 
Till they who scoffed have humbly bowed before 
The Gospel of the Cross my bishops brought. 
In coming years be mine the appointed work! 
Yet shalt thou own a use for prisoners 
Nor marvel at a tax while war is nigh. 
What! queen of queens! shall I not smite afresh, 
And prove 'the Victor' is no titular dust, 
But very essence of the days that are? 
If Dagmar bid, the things she asketh now — 
A girlish whim — are all I would not do. 
Dear love, thy morning-gift, I swear, shall be 
Far worthier both than that thy fancy seeks.", 
And ending lightly with a kiss, went out 
To grant his knights a waited audience. 

Pilgrims affirmed that Eastern convents held 
A cross of cunning workmanship, wherein 
Was hid one lock of our Lord's hair, which John 
Had taken when they left Him in the tomb. 

"Meet morning-gift for Dagmar," held the king, 
And to the Syrian shore despatched the man 
Of all most trusted, holy Anders, charged 
Through speediest ways to find the wonder, buy, 
And bring to Denmark though the cost outweighed 
The tenfold contents of his treasury. 



103 

Scarce gone the ship when Andrew, named the Good, 

Of Lund archbishop, came in pious wrath 

Hotly complaining his evangelists 

Cast, faithful witnesses, 'mid human swine, 

By base Livonians had been sacrificed 

To heathen idols; and the Christ reviled. 

Whereat the king flashed forth his mighty brand — 

No mere word-fighter he — and sware an oath 

By Him the Crucified, these churls their crime 

Should rue, and through a sea of blood should swim 

To him for grace, but find it not, and form 

Their filthy gods into a funeral pyre, 

Themselves the living human holocaust. 

Then, knowing Denmark's men would follow him 

Across the East Sea to Livonia, drave 

His captive thousands to the southern bound, 

There to burn lime, delve clay, and fashion bricks, 

Toil at the dawn and on into the night, 

Under command of trusty overseers, 

In labour of defence to build a high, 

Broad, turreted dividing wall 'neath which 

His lieges, thus the nearer foe outbarred, 

While he was absent might in safety sleep. 

Then, tarrying fretfully till Anders' quest 

Should place the amel'd cross within his palm, 

A royal lion compassed with the net 

Of uneventful hours and loathed ease, 

Nor sport, nor jest, nor Dagmar's love weighed worth 

To the king one deep breath drawn where clashing hosts 

Contended in the sounding field of war. 



104 

Meanwhile the ship with holy Anders fraught 

Plowed through strange seas her closing furrow and 

yawed 
Past sentry capes of misty continents. 
Thrust from her track by tempests, next becalmed, 
Thwarted by wayward currents and unknown tides, 
In vain Sten Thorgysson, her master, proved 
His art an admiral's; weeks dragged on to months; 
The weary voyage grew an imprisonment 
Until a gladdening foam-flower, herald bright, 
A loop of blood-red seaweed floated by, 
Which seen, the sailors' joy rose from dry throats 
In husky cheering that their pains were o'er. 
But Anders lifted up his face to God 
And gave Him thanks that thus far on the way 
His guiding providence had safely brought 
Through dangers manifold; for what remained, 
He asked the Eternal's all-sufficing aid, 
Within the hollow of Whose hand upheld 
Lie earth and ocean, sun and firmament. 
Bowed head, bent knee, did the rough mariners, 
Now smote with silence, listen to the praise 
And grateful prayer; and when — a swift-spun sequel — 
The sacred coast was won, their craft safe hauled, 
With reverent grief and wishes for the best, 
They parted from the humble man of Christ, 
Who on his errand sallying took his way 
From Joppa's haven toward Jerusalem, 
There in safe-keeping lodged his golden bars, 
And after keen inquiry, in keener search 
Sifted the country, that no fault of his 
Might miss the precious thing for Valdemar, 



io5 

Old convents, churches, sacred shrines, alike 

Bore witness of his zeal, but vainly oped 

Their gates to bid him welcome or God-speed 

From Dan to Beersheba; pious men 

Pent by their vows in gray-walled monachism 

Peered amid coffer'd relics for the cross, 

And nothing gained concerning but a tale 

How John the apostle gave that holy tress 

To Gaios who dying, kindly heart! 

Bequeathed which house of God should poorest be 

The peerless treasure, yet the house itself 

Was nameless on the yellow palimpsest. 

Withal, the legend told how hurrying time 

Slipt by ere, to preserve the gift, a cross 

Was at Byzantium wrought of hammered gold 

In hollow halves, the enshrining husk bedecked 

With the Christ's image, Mary's and high saints'. 

This gladdened Anders, and dispelled a fear 
Spawned in his brain by failure, that despite 
The pilgrim-story, such memorial 
Of our dear Lord had ne'er been left behind. 
Then carrying forth a rheum-eyed prior's pass 
Traced in crabbed cypher, potent to ensure 
Respect and welcome from pale monks afar, 
He toiled beyond the deep Dead Sea to where 
Arabia's naked crags watch burning wastes, 
And gained the convent of Saint Catherine, 
Builded on Israel's thunder-guarded mount. 
Here the good fathers' care demanded first 
Inspection of the franking manuscript, 
And from their crenelated pile they lower'd 
A cbVd whereunto it was tightly lashfcd, 



io6 

Swung twisting in the air or struck the wall, 

As by a creaking windlass upward drawn 

But, read, dissolved all doubt, and enterance there 

For Anders quickly made. The journey's hope 

Had swift discovery, also how the king, 

Royal in state, was royal in reward. 

''The Lord vouchsafe with us be found the cross! 

For never house of God was bare as ours, 

Nor begged by greater poverty an alms." 

Thus answering him the brethren afterward 

For many days within their sanctuary 

Lodged holy Anders, while from base to top 

Their feet unresting roved; nor barrenly. 

One morn at primesong to the chapel ran 
A tall, flushed neophyte who with lusty cry 
Drowned chant and tone: "Non nobis Domine, 
Sed Tuo nomine da gloriam! 
Behold the prize! occulted like a star 
Long age, in this time-gnawn husel-box 
Hidden within a chiselled socket-stone 
Hung on a pivot, giving outward when 
By what the world would call a lucky chance 
My prying fingers pressed the nether half, 
Just overhead where sits our reverend abbot 
Next that groined pillar in the refectory." 

So with the nigh-forgotten things of old 

The cross was found; then, in the avid hands 

Of holy Anders, grudgingly bestowed, 

"For," murmured they, "Need grippeth heart and 

wringeth 
E'en drops of blood where naught beside can move." 



He with their Bursar for a comrade soon 
Regained Jerusalem; there to the monks 
Made for the matchless relic safely clasped 
Around his neck, on Valdemar's behoof, 
Such ample recompense the cloister chest 
Nigh bursting bulged with yellow ingots crammed; 
Nor tarried, but pressed onward to the shore, 
Yearning to greet his tow-haired crew again. 

To him so wayworn ne'er had bonnier sight 

Eased sun-glared vision than the old, rugged port 

As o'er her jumble of flat-roofed dwellings blew 

Salt breaths of ocean, sweeter than perfume, 

Because they whispered "home"; but, woe to tell, 

The sharp-prowed ship was gone! for, giving heed 

To idle tales, the pining mariners 

Believed him dead, nor waited certain proof; 

Fain to escape a strand whose summer heat 

Melted the tempered pitch within the seams, 

Hove anchor, and squarely stood right out to sea; 

Nor knew, when settling low the land seemed haze, 

How Anders watched first hull, then spars, then sails, 

Dip on the faint horizon and leave him lone. 

The gayest hues are brought to sombrest shades 
When grief peers glooming at them. Lately bright 
Past dappled cloudlets with soft winds at play. 
Burnt with a curse; and as her fretted rocks 
Beat back the brine yet show a wave-wet face, 
So Anders, who had thrust his age aside, 
Forgot infirmity, and travel-spent 
Had fought down weakness to attain that hour, 
Then broke in bitter tears, 



io8 

"Why weep ye, Sir?" 
As though distilled from air a humpbacked man 
Had stood and spoken thus, and, ere reply 
Could come, "Rest thee awhile within mine arms." 
A voice that smote its thrill through brain and blood, 
Sweet music, lulling might; a visage mild, 
Yet terrible as though the lightning played 
About it, and that every flash was love. 
Who was the marvellous deformed, and whence? 

Bereft a conscious thought, or will, or power, 
Deprived of action, passive in stranger hands, 
But feeling life remained, though locked within, 
And the key held by others, Anders rose 
Into the atmosphere prepollently 
Upborne, and there sustained, in swift advance 
Past dabbled cloudlets with soft winds at play. 
He deemed that wastes of waters tossed beneath 
And spattered at their marge in tumbling surf. 
Then, floating lower when the waves were gone, 
Plains, mountains, rivers, cities, huddling twirled 
In shadowy landscape-tangles; touching earth 
He trode, or dreamed he trode in actual steps, 
On some dim height where burned perpetual fire 
Before a shrine, unless 'twere phantasy — 
The height, the fire, the shrine — for this abode 
A maze within a maze of memory when 
Through after years his reminiscent mind 
Wrought o'er the miracle, and strove to clear 
That bird-like journey's veriest processes 
In the alembic of slow-revolving thought. 

Still onward speeded, in that mighty grasp 
Bound though unfettered, of activities 



109 

Transcending man's the object, nor assent 
Nor dissidence his function; as one lies, 
Caught 'twixt sleep and waking, his inner self's 
Unstirring sport, by vivid images 
Of fancy worked to sweat with fear or smile 
With joy. 

A sudden loosening of bonds, 
A rush of sentiency, sight, motion, use 
In all the body's offices restored; 
Warm daylight, breezes blown off heather, kine, 
Wide pastures, falling freshets, towering trees — 
Most wonderful! he stood upon a mound 
Outside Slagelse, birth-place and earthly home; 
Yea, and the cherished jewel at his neck. 

Thus was the cross obtained for Valdemar 
Who reverently received it, and intent 
And gladly heard the story of the quest. 



How Dagmar wore the Cross. 

As one might deem the sky were split in twain, 
Uplooking, unaware a cobweb blown 
Across his eye tricked vision, Valdemar 
Saw in the promised warfare, in the wall 
High builded for defence by captive gangs, 
The weal of Denmark, and the puissance 
Of Danish hosts, the Eternal's purposes 
Fulfilled, himself as champion of the Christ 
By the quest's issue sovranly confirmed. 



no 

Ah, the diviner life which lingers nigh, 

Unlived, unheeded! ''Free the prisoners! 

Undo the plow-tax!", still sweet Dagmar prayed, 

When fitting time gave fair occasion voice. 

"O, Valdemar, what horrors have I seen, 

Here in our Denmark that is thine and mine, 

Here near the palace that is mine and thine! 

But yester-morn I rode by some foul place 

Where wan and wasted wretches packed a-row 

While on their naked flesh thy brawny smiths 

With red-hot rivets welded collars, bolts, 

Bars, manacles, and chains, croaking meanwhile 

To the hammers' resonant clink, a filthy song. 

Think of it, Valdemar! the biting iron 

Forged to the limbs of men thy brothers! Ay, 

Thy brothers, for the dear Lord for them as thee 

Writhed on the cross! Think of it, Valdemar! 

To labour, sleep, sit, stand — midnight as noon, — 

No moment's respite — still thy clanking chain, 

Thy bolt, thy shackle cramping natural use, 

And loading with their fell embrace the limbs 

Made for free movement in the free air of God. 

And these with wives and babes — babes, Valdemar — 

Waiting in some far home — waiting — with babes! 

Can we be blessed who keep them waiting? Oh, 

Each fettering blow bruised mine own flesh! I had 

leaped 
Down from my horse and struck thy grimy fiends 
And bidden them cease, but Strangge held my arm 
And whipped away. Never one instant's rest 
For them! What right is thine to make wild beasts 
Of these thy fellows — husbands, brethren, sons? 
Thou'dst slain the churl who durst so maul thy hounds! 



Ill 



And as though the queenly lesson must be conned 

In direst deed, that same unhappy morn 

I saw a poor soul crouching on the way 

In desolation, by her squalid home— 

Thy callous officers had even ta'en 

Her sorry bed and cooking pans to pay 

The plow-tax, for gold had she none. O, love, 

Is this thy doing? Can we be blessed in this? 

I tremble for ourselves while pleading thus 

With thee, as always I must plead, for them. 

In the deliberate cruelties of the cruel 

Are we not thus participant, and by 

Our greater light more deeply answerable? 

How dare we preach the Christ and yet do this? 

Then Valdemar bethought: "The Queen is young; 

Afresh from friends and all that charmed her life; 

Unused to wear a crown; unused to rule 

Upon a throne; and like a yearning child 

With every need fulfilled who lacketh all. 

Once on her bosom rests that holy charm, 

Content, benigner thus begot, will lay 

The haunting phantom of her innocent mind. 

And with denial veiled in jest he oft 

Would quit her presence and pass musing on 

To where his captains marshalled their array 

In practice of war's woful strategy, 

Or where like stranded porpoises his craft 

Scooped sandy wallows with their oaken stems; 

Leaving the steadfast love which sought to win 

His dauntlessness to nobler deeds of peace, 

And missing, while his fervid soul foresaw 

Far lands brought low, diviner life anigh! 



112 

The self-same day that Anders placed within 
His grasp the hallowed token Valdemar 
Snapt Samson-like the withes of idleness. 
Seven days beyond, his chosen fighting men 
Swarmed up the ships awaiting his command. 
Next came the parting. On the rippled beach 
Stood Dagmar and her lord; the bright midmorn 
Glinting from helm and vantbrace, as within 
The steely roundure of his arm close locked 
She nestled on his breast. 

"Nay, nay," he said, 
"Sweet Queen of Wifehood, stay thy tender grief; 
Cut shed me joyful floods when I return 
And claim the meed of victory in thy smile!" 
Powerless to check the tears, inward she bent 
Her drenched face so that he should not see 
How fast they fell. 

"I leave thee in my stead 
Chief at the council-board, perchance to teach 
Our hoary seers a fresher wisdom — shall 
Thy step turn thither; yet thy guileless lips 
Were better lent to woman's lovelier work — 
Fervent entreaty at the Eternal Throne 
For help to Denmark's host and Denmark's king. 
Nay, weep no more; 'tis but a little while 
When thou wilt welcome all thy truants back. 
Good comfort hast thou, surely, through the time; 
For holy Anders yonder hath his charge 
To overwatch and keep thy feet in peace, 
To do thy bidding, lead thee nearer still 
To Him, thy soul's delight, the Crucified." 
"My Valdemar!", she sobbed, "mine, only mine! 
Thou with thy man's mind and confident brow • 



113 

Canst boldly front the coming time, but I, 

A woman, shrink, and dread! This rending hour 

Were I thy wife and meet it tearlessly? 

My life seems crushed into this instant space 

Where past thy going can no other be 

When I may ever hear thy voice again! 

O, fold me closer, love! long days will dawn 

And sink to night ere thy strong arm as now 

Shall bind me round. Once more, my Valdemar, 

Hear me for His dear sake Who died for them, 

Pity the prisoners and thy poorer folk! 

O, let me minister to these hapless ones 

Thy grace and bounty! Truly, was't not this — 

This— for a morning-gift— thou promisedst, 

Keeping it hid within a laggard hand 

To make the deed more dear? Give it me now! 

And take the knowledge thou shalt trebly reap 

Thy benefaction in the heavenly aid 

Thou seek'st— yea, to the guardian hosts of fire 

Who ringed the man of God in Dothan's mount." 

Then clanged the clarion, signal of depart. 
She strained him to her bosom. Valdemar 
Drew o'er her head fine links of gold which hasped 
The amel'd cross; and soothed and spake: 
"Look, Sweetheart, see! here is thy morning-gift, 
A rare memorial of our suffering Lord, 
Found by a miracle and won for thee 
Where o'er the gateways of the land He trode 
Watch sentinel crags of Sinai— Anders may 
Unfold the wondrous tale— how surelier fit 
For her my queen, my Dagmar, than the things 
Her pure compassion hath so oft implored! 



ii4 

I go, my love; hark to the brazen cry! 

As viewed the morning-gift when I am far, 

May thy faith's prayer ascend for me above 

The windy rack of this tempestuous world: 

Soul of my soul, farewell! God shield thee, dearest!" 

"Farewell.", she murmured, losing sight and sense, 

Like a gale-toppled flower bowed swooning down; 

He beckoned to her maidens, gently gave 

The unconscious form to their encircling care, 

Then leaped within the boat, and thus was gone. 



The Danes had never known such steadfast light 

Of Love as for them shone when Dagmar sat 

On high a regent for the king and stooped 

And cheered the captives, leaned to the indigent, 

Dowered all with words of comfort, oped her hand 

And eased their bondage with a bounty culled 

By pity from a brimming storehouse. Thus 

June left her shower-smirched roses to endure 

July's long violence of sunshine; that 

Burned into August's fiercer, shortened fire, 

Then flamed o'er Autumn's gorgeous foliage-blooms, 

But dying ever dying, until at touch 

Of the first snowflake the Year's great hearth grew cold. 

'Mid all the seasons' change unchanging, still 

The same young queen moved calmly through the land 

Lulling drear misery and desperate need 

By goodness done, e'er, greater than her gifts, 

Giving herself. And Anders at her side 

Added a zeal unfaltering as her own 

Yet fused with age's prudence. Happy time! 

In peace through peace she passed; she put away 

The pomp of state, she doffed the diadem, 



H5 

She wore the coronal of her people's love; 
That only. Dagmar ! Joy of the Danes ! true queen— 
The queenliest queen where queens should ever reign — 
Wert thou, enthroned in man's and woman's heart! 

Meanwhile, the king with sudden storm of war 

Stunned the Livonians; like a scattering herd 

The thunder frights they fled his scathing hand 

To inland strongholds kept by quaking bog, 

Cave, cliff, or forest, whence, by solemn lot 

Ordained in sacrificial bands they dashed 

Against the phalanxed steel, impeding thus 

The march, and plucking e'en by the hand of Death 

Such sheaves from Time that served their chieftains well 

To form before the last unravaged town 

One ultimate host of sad, revengeful men 

Controlled with skill, and bound by dreadful oaths 

To face and fight the Dane while fist or. finger 

Or any shred sufficed to grip a skean. 

One sunrise, ambush-galled, infuriate, 
The invaders reached that bosky plain, by tarn 
And mountain girt, where the grim multitude 
Awaited their attack. 

"Standards! advance!" 
The king commanded: "Denmark, to the charge! 
On, knights and footmen! Denmark and the Christ! 
This day shall crown our triumph! Hey, for home! 
These dogs no longer 'scape; charge, and thy fly!" 
Out rang the trumpets; forward swiftly pressed 
With answering shout his veterans; but disposed 
Behind deep ditches, pitfalls, felled tree trunks, 
At vantage, patriot savages at bay 



n6 

thrice valiantly drove back the Danish wolves. 
"What spell is on us? Are we changed to women? 
Do we hide suckling teats beneath our mail?" 
Balked, shamed, yet in repulse more terrible 
The king chafed, flinging gibes like stinging hail, 
Then, rancour smoothed to invincible resolve, 
"Now, Father Andrew, use thy art, and pray 
Avengement of thy martyrd monks be given. 
Up on yon hill where thou canst overlook 
The slaughter, go, and with thee take thy priests 
And seek the help divine so sorely earned, 
While I will lead a fresh assault and force 
That bulwark or sleep with the dead to-night." 



The gray Archbishop burned with inward flare 
Of rage, and like a prophet raised his voice 
As on the hill he stood: 

"In Rephidim 
Came Amalek, and fought with Israel; 
And Joshua chose him men, as Moses bade, 
And fought with Amalek and overcame; 
For Moses, servant of the living God, 
Held up his hands, and Israel prevailed. 
I am the servant of the living God; 
Ye are His chosen people of to-day. 
O Danes, fear not! but smite as Joshua smote. 
The Lord beholding these my hands for ye 
Uplifted now will likewise grant my prayer!" 
Then, Moses-like, he stretched his hands on high, 
Besought the Almighty mightily to repeat 
The blessing and consume the idolater. 



"Once and again, true hearts, to victory!" 

So shouting, Valdemar anew led on 

His lately baffled men. First to defy 

The shock, a huge Livonian chieftain reared 

His bulky frame before their timbern wall. 

Young Ingovand, the standard-bearer, claimed 

His insolent challenge, and intrepidly 

Rushed on, assailing; but the giant raised 

A ponderous club in sinewy arms aloft, 

And dealt such swift, evadeless ruin as crushed 

Headpiece and brain-pan, then exultingly 

Wrenched from the stiffening hand the gore-slimed staff, 

Daring the bravest. Fleetly strode the king 

Toward the swaggering spoiler; dire his wrath. 

"Dear Ingovand, well shalt thou be revenged!" 

He cried in tones made tremulous by regret. 

From the hill-top the grisly Andrew saw, 

And screeched command "Quick! quick! hold up my 

hands! 
Woe, that for heaviness of age they fell 
When slain was Ingovand! Hear us, good Lord!" 

Between the serried hosts that waited, hushed 
E'en that the pawing of a horse, the chance 
Clash of shield 'gainst harness, the casual clink 
Of weapons, ay, the breaths drawn hard in tense 
Expectancy, cracked in the ear like shots, 
These champions met, afire with a fury of hate. 
Again the stark barbarian swang his club; 
It hissed through air, smote full the guarding boss, 
Dinted the helm, snapped laces, bearing down 
The Victor on one knee. Well for the king 
His brawny arm could bar the forceful blow, 



n8 

Else had he sped one way with Ingovand. 
"Brave Valdemar is lost!" ran shudderingly 
From lip to lip, when, quicker than their moan, 
He tore away the loosened helm, and hurled 
Pashing the foe's grim visage, then, tiger-like, 
Sprang on the blenching giant, drave to hilt 
His gleaming blade, and as the impotent mass 
Pitched pronely, snatched the banner, waved it high, 
Heartened his eager Danes, and headed them, 
Fired by resistless valour, over all 
Livonian cunning had contrived in hope 
To stem the deathly flood. 

"Smite, hip and thigh! 
Smite, smite, and spare not!," the Archbishop shrieked, 
His wizened arms upheld on either side. 
Onward they pressed, King Valdemar in front 
Seemed some destroying angel; right hand grasped 
His ravening sword, left hand that wondrous flag — 
"God's gift," they called it — and his yellow locks 
Streaming behind, wet with the spurting blood. 

Heathens these wild Livonians might be, 
Rough-hearted, brutal, knowing not the Christ 
Save as fierce Danes had preached by rapine and glaive, 
But if where they were born, ard breathed, and grew, 
And held the gift — that blessed, rugged country, 
Their very own — in freedom — were not home, 
Home and the thousand things which hang thereon, 
With right to come and go and fight and love 
Of their own will, not bond but free men ever — 
For them earth held no home, for slaves had none! 
Why should they falter now? The worst had come. 
They could but die, and so their death should help 
To rip the curst invader from that home, 



ii9 

Why, better die than live! 

Bold in despair — 
In front, the immitigable king; in rear, 
The sullen tarn— they grappled with the foe. 
Groans, curses, war-cries fouled each passing breeze; 
A living wave upon a sea of blood, 
Danes and Livonians billowed to and fro 
Till what they trampled was a hideous mire 
In which they slipped and plashed. Nigh thick as 

haulms 
Beneath the sickle, the barbarians lay; 
Nor wholly unrevenged: Sir Strangge, he 
Who fetched fair Dagmar for his king from far, 
Sturdy Sir Limbek, iron-thewed Sir Blan, 
Urbane Sir Gyomas, proud Sir Peter Glob, 
And thirty meaner knights, with goodly tale 
Of men-at-arms, fell, pierced through armour joints 
By spear, sharp skean, or arrow. 

Heavily 
The day dragged evenward ere left of all 
The throng that late had battled with the Dane, 
A wretched skin-clad remnant, wounded sore, 
Stood 'mid a heap of slaughtered friends, and begged 
In uncouth tongue and simple-speaking sign, 
The largess of their miserable lives. 
King Valdemar beheld, and mercy moved 
His heart; the gray Archbishop interposed 
With warning utterance, and overcame: 
" O king! remember now thine oath which thou 
Didst swear aforetime; let the villains burn, 
An odour of sweet sacrifice to God! 
Else thou and all thine house shall be like Saul 
Who shunned to execute His righteous wrath, 



120 

And spared to slay the heathen utterly. 
Mar not thy victory, 'tis given of God." 

Quick was the pyre made ready; bound thereon 
The human sacrifice. Their upward gleam 
Fronting the umbered clouds which cloaked the sky 
With ruddy semblance of the field below, 
The flames leapt lithely, licking off the flesh 
And leaving naught but drifts of powdery ash. 

Due burial dealt their dead the Danes abode 
No longer in that desolated land, 
But soon embarking, loosened sail, and caught 
A fair wind blowing whither they would be. 

Dim thunders of the fight had rolled o'ersea 

To Denmark and her queen, in tales of blood 

And death by mariners and merchants told; 

Which heard, the folk made feast and holiday, 

Shouted abroad the praises of their king, 

Strong Valdemar the Victor, conquest-crowned! 

A breath of victory swept throughout the realm 

Striking wild thrills of joy from every soul, 

But when the whirlwind passed, and moments came 

Serener, pity-freighted, Dagmar knelt, 

Rich in the glory of a woman's love, 

And prayed our Father He would heal the wounds 

Of war, and that calm days of peace might dawn 

Ere for the garner of this mortal life 

Her wifehoood's ripening fruitage should be won. 

Forgetting self, remembering others, thus 
Her noble course was run; she shared her joys, 
Their griefs, with them. The pining prisoner, 



121 

The moiling peasant, much as men may be rapt 
From shame and squalor, gyves and sordid bounds, 
Cheered by her kindliness durst hope and sing; 
And the cramped, worn existences o'erwhelmed 
In cruel depths of misery and want, 
Reached upward by her aid — as in some vale 
When mists are lifted by the rising sun, 
How fragrantly expand long-folded flowers! 
Nor these alone her tender influence felt, 
But stolid councillors were drawn to deeds 
Of charity toward willful ones who err; 
To enact new laws in higher wisdom framed, 
Which gentlier dealt with human weaknesses, 
Nor sought by code to arrogate His function 
Who says "Vengeance is Mine, and recompence. ,, 

A presence pure, adorable, benign, 

She walked the ways before them, led them on 

Along His path, the ever-beckoning Christ, 

Till one sad noontide holy Anders came, 

Without the One they looked for, to the poor 

Who reaped her blessings at the gate, and told 

In accents trembling with unuttered fear, 

Their Queen, their best beloved, lay swooning-weak, 

Held in the sweet adventure which doth lend 

The wife a mother's name. Day after day 

He came, and brought their whispered suit no dole 

Of comfort; she but waxed the weaker; sick 

Past leechcraft, yet unracked by pain. 

O, strange! 
Heir to a kingdom, claiming but a grave, 
The babe had spurned the breast, and closed his eyes, 
Then smiled and turned his face away from Earth 



122 

And left the wonderful, love-proffered house 
Dropping again to dust untenanted. 

She who knew all the mother-pangs knew none 
Of the dear bliss which waits on motherhood, 
And wondered, as her travail-misted sight 
Beheld the shrouded body borne to rest, 
If Jesus' mother when her Son had gone, 
Felt what she felt, past power of thought to think, 
Or tongue to utter, that all strength to stay- 
Behind him longer here, went when he went. 
She would elsewhither be; the spirit grew 
Within her till it scorned the fleshly bars, 
To a sublimer fortune bidden, and yearned 
To quit this place of weeks and years which flee 
As they were shadows thrown by scudding clouds. 
She waited for the freeing touch of God 
Our Father's hand, calm, beautiful as night 
When winking stars, the wimpled moon unseen, 
Alone do light the world. Yet was her mind 
With the folk alway. " My poor lambs! do thou," 
She sighed to Anders, " feed for the sake of Christ 
When I am taken." He, in fond demur: 
"God's will be done, dear lady, but the Lord 
Who raised dead Lazarus from the tomb, may build 
Thy shattered frame in newer strength compact, 
And through the impoverished current of the veins 
Pour fresher health's abundant richness." "Nay, 
Old friend, the Master calleth; is't for me 
To fear the deep, dark valley who have seen 
Rest's waters there and know the Guide? Yet I 
Would fain endure till Valdemar returns, 
For, now, my voice might win him to unloose 



123 

The prisoners, and undo the plow-tax. This, 
If this were done, I had not lived in vain; 
True life is measured by the good we do, 
And not by days or hours." 

"Then hath thy life 
Been true indeed, sweet Queen!" 

"A truer life 
Remains: there is an empire nobler far 
Than Earth can yield or brain conceive, beyond 
The melting fields of blue in Paradise! 
O, grant me, God, ere changed this hither verge 
For that Thy better country, I may see 
My husband's face, and gain for these the boon 
Before denied — unworthy as I am! 
Yet grant me this, dear Lord, then take me home." 

These words did ever, while she slowly waned 

Soar winged by Faith to Him who called her thence; 

Meekly she prayed, and oft they heard her prayer, 

"O, grant me this, dear Lord, and take me home!" 

When, afterward, she feebly pressed to lips 

Too weak for speech the amel'd cross which rose 

And fell above her faintly-beating heart, 

They knew she mutely breathed the self-same prayer. 

'Twas at a sad month's end — her eager soul 
Riving the clay — that a swift messenger 
Rode to the gate, shouting " The king hath come ! 
Touched shore this morn, and now at Skanderborg 
He halts to rest our wounded men!" 

Fast flew 
The tidings; Dagmar heard — sense-sharpened — looked 
At Anders, whispered in his bended ear, 
"Quick, send Sir Knut, and letch the King!"; no more. 



124 

Hard rider, trusted henchman, spurred Sir Knut 
With loosened rein the doleful errand through, 
By wood and wold where glancing sunshine laughed 
And mocked the watery sorrow of his eye. 

Weary and journey-worn, King Valdemar 

Had lodged that day upon the castled isle 

At Skanderborg, and, with the bivouac ranged, 

As from the west horizon, up the sky 

Streamed sunset's gorgeous gonfalons, alone 

He strode the terrace, watching well content, 

And smiling on his captains bade them rouse 

The coming dark with merry feast and song. 

Then pacing back and forth, mused much upon 

The stormy circumstances of his life, 

Mechanically by the busy scene 

Led on a mental trail of wrack and gloom; 

Turning anon with glad escape from these 

To brighter things, remembering naught but her 

His girl-queen Dagmar; but the happy day 

Poor Strangge brought her from the Bohmer-land. 

What fairer gem had ever decked a crown, 

Adorned a throne — more priceless-exquisite? 

Now he would live in peace, his conquests done, 

And gather sturdy children round his knee — 

"What though the springtide of our love be past? 

The summer is eternal, and shall bloom 

In blossom'd sweetness knowing not decay." 

Resolved desire thus dared an eavesdropper 

As the long lift and thud of galloping hoofs 

Beat on his ear, quickly he looked and saw 

Sir Knut's white charger hurling o'er the plain, 

A minute letter reacji the? camped host. 



125 

Heard a hoarse cry "The king! where is the king?", 
Tranced, with dull evil striking in his heart 
Stared on, and saw the steed come thundering 
Across the bridge like the pale horse bestrid 
By Death in the Apocalypse, till underneath 
Sir Knut stood in the stirrups, and shrieked up, 
"My king! away! away! Oh God, the queen's 
A-dying, dying! come to Ribe, come!" 

King Valdemar the Victor, stricken low, 

Even in the time of triumph, fled beyond 

The barbican, gripped the first bridle, sprang 

To saddle, drove the sharp rowels deep, and swept 

Through the dun eve a hurricane of woe. 

Running to horse, a medley retinue 

Of thirty knights, ill-mounted, ill-equipped, 

Dashed following closely after, but, one by one, 

Their random-gathered coursers, winding, lagged, 

Until, of all, at Gridsted did remain 

The king and stout Sir Knut — Away! by field 

And thorp, where people shivered in their beds 

"Tis the wild huntsman and his devils' train!" 

Away! long hours through night, God help the need! 

What if ere reached she die, and see me not?, 
He thought in agony, what if her eyes 
Do never beam again her tender love? 
What if she smile upon me as of old 
No more, nor sweetly coo 'My Valdemar'? 
Ah, beast! dost stumble? on! or I will run 
Afoot to ease my heart's wild thirst of hope. 
fight of fife! wilt thou then quit me quits? 



126 

Wilt thou not stay and cheat this robber Death? 
Wilt thou not stay and help me to the Christ? 

An age of torment crawled, where every mile 
Stabbed with a keener anguish; straining, last, 
His gaze, the stately palace loomed a-gleam 
With flitting lamps. 

A clash of armour nigh 
Sounded within the quiet room where she, 
r e land's Beloved, lay tranquilly at rest. 

s heavy, hurrying step broke through their wail; 
ile entered — looked — 'What? she is dead?" "She 

asked 
But now for thee, then went.", young Kirsten moaned. 
"Dead? Oh my God! and I denied her prayer: 
Dead, love? without a kiss, a smile to bless 
My pathway lone? dead! none were e'er as thou, 
Sweet angel, to thine home so soon returned!" 

Pale as a white wild rose the ruthless wind 

Cuts down, she slept before him; motionless 

Upon her bosom, now, the cross reposed 

Girded by one thin hand. "She yearned and craved 

To bide until thy coming," Anders dared, 

"God hath willed otherwise; His will be done!" 

"Hath He not slain my darling? Why should I, 

Sir priest, mumble therefore 'His will be done'? 

Where is the kindness of the deed? Where shown 

The mercy that for aye endureth? Where 

The full compassion? Where the pitiful, 

The righteous Judge — her blameless life deflowered? 

What had she done that many a year should not 

Glide softly by and leave her silver-haired? 

Gbtl lieTp' me an I rave! How can I else?" 



127 

Low the strong warrior bowed o'er her still form, 

Shaken to gusts of sobbing by the force 

Of a great passion of blended agony 

And love which whirled aside all reticence, 

All self-control, in one omnipotent, 

Awful, outburst. Tears fell on that thin hand; 

He kissed them off, lingering in touch amid 

The dear, frail fingers. Suddenly he raised 

Himself above her, calling, as though the full 

Intensity of Being crammed the cry 

And waited on the answer: "Dagmar! Wife! 

A token! Open thine eyes! Give of their balm 

To ease my withered soul through the long years! 

I die without thy smile! O, speak to me!" 

Had deep-dawn glimmered through the night and shone 
Upon her face, or was it holier light 
Than day or night could give? She oped her eyes, 
She spake, clear, sweet: 

"Unloose the prisoners' chain! 
Undo the plow-tax!" Quick he signed Sir Knut 
"Let this be done.", then, with a look whose love 
No tongue might tell, her faithful spirit passed 
From Earth and tears to Christ in Paradise. 

They bore her corse to Ringsted, over sea, 
By Lille Belt and Store Belt, and through 
The church's bridal gate; around her neck 
Untouched that amel'd cross. Now will the Dane 
Bend by her tomb, and bless the gentle Queen 
Who asked not gems nor gold nor acres broad, 
But good to others, for a morning-gift. 



CHRISTMAS. 

What was given us men that night 

There in Bethlehem long ago— 

That which makes To-Day more bright, 

Lifts Hope to a loftier height, 

Fires the blood with heavenlier glow? — 

Now, we but begin to know. 

Who was born for us that night 
Of a maiden's mother-woe; 
Passing on in lonely might 
Into realms beyond the sight 
Through the portals where we go? — 
As He knows, are we to know? 

What was done for us that night? — 
When we meet Him, from Earth's low 
Rags Love-drawn to robes of white, 
Kiss His feet, with whisper light 
"Was't for me, dear Lord?" . . . e'en so 
We shall scarcely ever know. 



THE VISITORS. 

When sown by God in Life on Earth, 
A germ unfolding undefiled, 
The soul is born to fleshly birth, — 
Youth comes and clothes the child. 

Lends him her pure and early grace, 
Dwells a beloved and loving Guest, 



129 

Plants Laughter on the ruddy face, 
And Joy within the breast. 

Then Manhood coming girds in strength, 
Matures the body for the strife, 
Cheers and ennobles, till at length 
Is reached the prime of life. 

Age nearing bends the sturdy back, 
Wrinkles the forehead, stints the breath, 
And leading down the well-worn track 
Guides him to lovely Death. 

Death comes the last but never goes, 
Divests him of the earthly clod, 
Makes him a fair, unfading Rose, 
And yields him back to God. 



IN AMERICA. 

Democracy. 

As Gideon answered Israel "Neither I 
Nor son of mine shall over you be king, 
The Lord Himself shall rule", we answering 
To you who drag the rusted chain yet ply 
The praise of Monarchy, shall still deny 
All right divine to such a paltry thing, 
So palpable a Cheat whose rose-wreathed ring 
Conceals not gem but gyve; until the sky 
Uncloses for our Lord no throne is set 
Here in America for any man: 



130 

The purple His who wore the thorn — and yet 
In human brotherhood we lead the van 
Among the peoples! Crown and Coronet, 
There is no place for ye in Freedom's plan. 



IN AMERICA. 

Lincoln. 
*'He belongs to the ages' 
With seers and sages, 
Heroes and mages — 
Turn History's pages 
Who e'er hath earned wages 
Mightier, grander? 
What leader, commander, 
Hath less for Self lusted? 
For those who had trusted, 
Impersonal, purely, 
More wisely, more surely 
Won truer glory? 
Whose was the story 
Filled with such sorrow, 
Helpless to borrow 
Hope for the Morrow — 
Misery greater — 
Friend turned to Traitor, 
Foes at the gate or 
Hid in the dwelling, 
Cowards foretelling 
Peril, disaster — 



*Stanton's words when Lincoln died. 



I3i 

Blockheads made master, 
Safety a bubble; 
Toil, wrack, and trouble 
These only certain 
Each side the curtain — 
Earth with no other 
Gifts for this brother 
Bound for the lowly, 
Bound by the holy 
Thongs of his being 
For the unseeing, 
For the long-fettered 
Fearlessly bettered, 
Bound with sad smiling 
For the beguiling, 
For the unknowing — 
Freely bestowing 
Goodness and gladness 
From his deep sadness — 
Bound for the nation — 
Bound for salvation — 

Was consummation 
Ever achieved thus? 
Ever bereaved thus? 
March, 1893. 



IN AMERICA. 

The Transvaal "Republic". 
What of all tyranny is more to hate 
Than that which lurks assassin-like behind 



132 

The robes of Liberty, to gag and bind, 
Betray, oppress the stranger, confiscate 
The rights of men to rule within the State 
They make their home, deal offices well-lined 
To subtle myrmidons, yet bribe and blind 
The burgher, reign by lies, intimidate 
With war's curst engines of destruction bought 
Of booty wrung from Industry, pass laws 
Which mockingly withold the franchise sought 
And strengthen Wrong and sharpen thievish claws 
To strike the deeper! Shall we endure the thought? 
Perish this treachery to our common cause! 
15th August, 1896. 



IN AMERICA. 

Nations. 

Let us be men, my brothers; men are more 
Than nations; Brotherhood's once-loosened tide 
Shall sweep away all barriers that divide 
Mankind; "they may be one" — can we not soar 
To this? through stygian darkness of the hoar 
Past centuries, touch of each was lost; in wide 
Emergence into Dawn, shake hands! beside 
The pale no longer cur-like snarl; the door 
Of Love lies open; enter; rase for aye 
The savage's blood-pricked confines; patriots then 
Of one vast realm where brother lights the way 
For brother, with no crown on earth again 
But His the Omnipotent King of Glory, say, 
Shall this be so? not nations; no! but Men. 



133 
THE BRITISH FOLK TO AMERICA. 

Over the flood 
Greet we our own, 
Blood of our blood, 
Bone of our bone: 

Be the need Thine 
Gladly we stand 
One in our line 
There on Thy strand: 

There on the main 
One in our fleet, 
Ringed with the slain, 
Thundering defeat! 

Told were as dust, 
Monstrous in might, 
They who would thrust 
Us from the fight — 

Call! and the flood 
Brings Thee Thine own, 
Blood of Thy blood, 
Bone of Thy bone. 
23rd April, 1898. 



PECCAVIMUS. 

I 
Now you have it, keep the lead 
America ! 



134 

Who should us but you succeed — ■ 
Blood and bone and brain our breed? 
Slavery done and Cuba freed 
Prove your brotherhood indeed, 
America! 

II 

Then Cavite's miracle, 

America! 

Draper there's a tale to tell 

When we surely fought as well 

And without a shot it fell — 

Yet your Dewey bears the bell, 

America! 

Ill 
Heed them not who growl from here, 
America : 

Jealous Europe's frigid sneer, 
Those who dread lest you draw near, 
Lest their paltriness appear 
And the people see them clear, 
America. 

IV 
Shall your puissant coming bring, 
America, 

Peace to kaiser or to king 
Or to him of the bow-string 
Or the lackeys of their ring? 
That were but a thinkless thing 
America! 



135 

V 
Bold as you once did we smite, 
America, 

For the victims of the night, 
For the cause of God and Right, 
For the broadening of the Light — 
Sought no better than that fight, 
America. 

VI 
Then ne'er cried we "Hold, enough!", 
Though the sleet blew on the buff, 
Though our foes were staunch and tough, 
We were aye a better stuff, 
"Climbed" not "down" what e'er the "bluff", 
America! 

VII 
That was ere the "prestige M -fanned 
Little great ones humm'd the land- 
Shotted guns, and cruisers manned— 
With a six-stringed German band 
Twanged by Hamid's bloody hand, 
America! 

VIII 

For they thrust the Christ aside, 
America! 

And we listened as they lied 

Pompous babble, braggart pride- 
Thus He left us when the tide 
Turned— and we have drifted wide, 
America! 



136 

IX 

We have caught their baser tone, 

America; 

Ripening is the harvest sown — 

Subject-martyrs left to groan, 

Hamid propped upon the throne, 

Crete redeemed by Greece alone, 

America! 

X 

Now, our ships — if ours they are, 

America — 

Move as wills the small white czar! 

East be Near or East be Far 

Other steps before us bar — 

We have lost our guiding-star, 

America. 

XI 
Heu, peccavimus! and shent, 
America, 

Must we be, and haply lent 
Sport for all the Continent, 
Shaken from our gross content — 
Yet is hope in chastisement, 
America! 

XII 
Pray for us, loved Jonathan — 
America! 

We are still a kind of man, 
Capable, belike, to plan 



137 

Or, you shining in the van, 
E'en to follow as we can, 
America; 

XIII 
Pray for us, majestic kin, 
America ! 

Blood still thicker is than thin 
German brew or Gallic bin, 
Or the samovar's theine — 
That we expiate our sin, 
America! 

XIV 
Warned, God's work is yours to do, 
America! 

Cleanse what ways are mired with you, 
Firm and ready, pure and true, 
Ease the Many, curb the Few, 
Dash the Old World with the New, 
America. 

XV 
Greatly won, now greatly hold, 
America! 

Stars and stripes and hearts of gold, 
On Life's blazoned page inscrolled 
First Knights of the newer fold, 
God-ward looking, Christly souled, 
America! 
May, 1898, 



138 

THE AMERICAN ANTHEM 



Heartily 




I I 
1. A-mong the na-tions younger born, Yet greater now of all we stand, 

N N ' h J^ * I IS ' 



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139 

THE AMERICAN ANTHEM. 

II 
The rights imperial churls withold 
Are ours in Freedom perfected; 
No throned Vampire drains the gold 
From toiling wretches faint for bread; 
No feudal harpies vex and spoil, 
Our lords are they who till the soil: 
America! America! 
The free man's home, America. 

Ill 
At our wide hearth glad millions live 
Who have renounced the old-world thrall, 
With room for millions more we give 
A welcome and a home to all; 
Our starry oriflamme unfurled 
We march the Vanguard of the world: 
America! America! 
The world's great home, America. 

IV 

O, from our altar-continent 

May Goodness in Life's fires ascend, 

And thought and deed with Love be blent 

Before Thine eye our King and Friend; 

In righteousness our holy sod 

Be held a trust for Thee, O God! 

America ! America ! 

Our holy home, America, 



140 
ROUNDHEAD SONG. 

Sithen 'tis war, and pistols are primed, 
What's to hinder my riding away? 
Why should a maiden — although I have timed 
Well for the road when she goeth to pray? 

Sithen 'tis war, and ready am I, 
What's to hinder my riding away? 
Is it to look in her beamy brown eye? 
Is it to hearken for what she might say? 

Sithen 'tis war, and Rupert a-field, 
What's to hinder my riding away? 
Is it my love that would fain have her yield? 
How if she daintily scorn to obey? 

Sithen 'tis war, and trumpets are blown, 
What's to hinder my riding away? 
Is it to think how a fair woman grown, 
Better were welcome than speeding to-day? 

Sithen 'tis war, and men on the march, 
What's to hinder my riding away? 
Heel to the hide! Ha — there yon by the larch, 
Hither she comes, and naught left but to stay. 



YOU AND I. 

You and I, 
Where are we sailing, 
Under what sky? 
What vessels hailing? 



Hi 

What signal trying? 
What pennant flying? 
How are we standing? 
Bound for what landing? 
Wind in what quarter? 
Know we the buoyage? 
Longer or shorter, 
What of the voyage? 
What of our craft now — 
Foul weather, ready 
Forrard, abaft now, 
Staunch, true, and steady? 
No waves can fill her, 
Answering fine? 
Who holds the tiller? 
Who heaves the line? 

Storms will be scudding, 
Seas will be thudding 
Starboard and larboard, 
Rushing and crushing, 
Creeping and sweeping, 
Laming and maiming, 
Roaring and soaring 
Ten fathoms high, 
Hurricane suction, 
Death and destruction — 
You and I, 

Say, shall we ride out 
This devils' tide out? 
Meet it unblenching, 
Clear in the eye, 
Strong in the soul, 



142 

Taking the drenching 
Sure of the goal? 

When the keel creaking 
Threatens to slip, 
And the blast shrieking 
Wrenches the ship, 
When fire-balls spatter, 
And the spars shatter, 
When the masts totter 
And the decks rip, 
And hell has got her 
Hard in its grip, 
Past hope, to thinking — 
Shall we unshrinking 
Face it and chase it, 
Meet it and beat it, 
Look up and espy 
'Morning awaking, 
Starlight and far light 
Shining above her? 
Clouds at last breaking, 
Blue in the sky? 
Shall we so saven 
Gain the fair haven, 
There anchored lie; 
Meet the souls' Lover 
Night seemed to cover- 
You and I? 



143 
SLEEP. 

Float, lovely Sleep, 
Free o'er the deep 
Mine of the soul; 
Peace be thy goal; 
Brood close above; 
Benison, Love 
Harvests to reap 
Ripened O Sleep 
By thy control; 
Bring perfect rest 
Blessing and blest, 
Forcing no toll; 
Brimmed be the bowl; 
Fill thou the soul, 
Seize it and keep 
Thine, lovely Sleep. 



GEMMA. 

I do not ask you who you are 

Or from what heaven you lately came, 

Or what unseen auroral bar 

Makes us diverse as dew from flame. 

Is it, diviner as you are, 

Decreed for some repented shame 

That 'mid our lives' perpetual jar 

You win back home and cancel blame 

I do not ask you who you are, 

I do not ask you whence you came — 



144 

So dearly pure, so rarely far, 
My love doubts dumbly, fearing shame 
I dare not dream dissolved the bar, 
I dare but breathe your jewel-name, 
And humbly hold you shrined the Star 
Who lights my heart with holy flame. 



MILLY. 



They found her in a crowded slum, a wee 

Wan child, with bare feet paddling down 

A slimy gutter in a stream of filth 

Behind a floating chip, watching with big 

Blue eyes 'tween tangled wisps of pale brown hair, 

If it would sail in triumph lengthwise through 

Or lodge perversely crosswise 'gainst the grating. 

She thought the world was built of brick, and chopped 

In streets that folks could go for beer, and fenced 

With high walls pierced by windows for the clothes 

To dry if they were washed; while everywhere 

The sky was a huge ceiling full of fog, 

And smoke, and blacks, unless it rained or snowed — 

Though puzzled how the falling flakes lit clean — 

And all the ground was made of paving-stones 

Or wooden blocks or asphalt so that when 

It froze the horses could slip down and cut 

Their knees. She thought the corner public-house 

The only place in Winter looking warm 

In Summer cool; that mothers always beat 

Their children — called them horrid names, unless 



US 

Too drunk to hold the strap, or curse; that some 
Poor children who had fathers also, got 
A double beating and worse nasty names. 

They found her thus, the frowsy shift she wore 

Her only garment, and asked pityingly 

How long she had had that dreadful cough, and why 

Her mother did not nurse her; bent and kissed 

The wasting, delicate lips; dropped words of balm 

Into the pining heart; said she must meet 

Them there to-morrow, they would come and take her 

Out of the city for a holiday; 

And, going, put some money in her hand. 

Then she ran back to where her mother lay 

Blear-eyed, white-faced, gin-sodden, fearful — still 

Drunk with the dregs of yesterday's debauch — 

To tell her what had happened — might she go? 

And showed the silver they had given her — where 

Was Heaven? Supine until she saw the coin 

Which piled the child's lean palm, the mother rose 

And steadying herself unsteadily 

Against the dank wall, answered "Give it me — 

The money — what? five shillings? here is luck! 

Yes, you can go. Ah . . . Heaven? Well, I know this, 

Heaven must be far enough away from here!", 

Then staggered out, nor coming back again 

Until past midnight, stupefied with gin, 

And falling prone across the bundled dirt 

Which formed their bed, and bruising Milly's bosom. 

Good women are God's human angels. When 
They sought her in the morning she was there— 



146 

And thus had stood from earliest hint of dawn — 

On the same kerbstone, waiting, pallid, tense, 

But wondering till the wonder grew a pain 

What Heaven could be and where. They took her then 

To a Waif's Refuge; clothed her decently; 

And sent her with a hundred other waifs 

Out of the grime and slime of Babylon 

For one day in the country. Silently 

She sat among the busy chatterers 

While the swift engine dashed the tranquil air 

Of Summer into gusty eddyings 

And left its broken curl of cloudy breath 

Streaming above the carriages till whirled, 

Expanding, dissipating, wind-borne, far 

Behind, this way and that. So strange was all, 

So utterly unlike what had been felt, 

Or heard, or seen in that her cramped existence, 

She could not apprehend the commonest 

Of common meanings in these common things — 

It might have been the Resurrection Morn 

For aught she knew, and the freed steam's fell shriek 

The great Archangel's trumpet-call to Life. 

Within the darkened chamber of her mind 

A great hope sprang, a very cereus bloom 

White, splendent, odorous, as the marvel grew 

Unfolding, and with such magical effect 

That when the griding train had stopped and she 

Had clambered out, the sunshine was no more 

A flaming mystery, but a radiant pledge 

Of swift fulfilment! Soon she stood within 

A pleasant meadow where the birds' clear song 

Made the air choral; where bright waters clinked 



147 

Against the pebbles half-articulately; 
Where a fresh wind blown over bays of bloom 
Tussled to rustling leaves of fringing trees, 
With its invisible fingers' friendliest touch 
Greeted the pilgrims, and caressed and kissed 
The city's pallor from bleached brow and cheek. 

The child looked up and, lo, the immanent blue — 

Illimitable womb of worlds, a swift, 

Great, glorious revelation, new to her 

As though she were that instant born — in depth 

On depth, near, far, around, away 

Came flooding vision and suffused and swept 

Along each tingling nerve, and stormlike passed, 

Yet with such grasp upon the strands of life 

It seemed her soul must follow through her eyes. 

Then the glad tumult broke into a cry 

A moment later choked upon her lips 

By a fierce cough which dragged her back to earth 

And bowed her down and then was lulled to gasps, 

And thus to ease, as newer miracles 

Beneath her feet among the cool, soft grass 

Took on intensive shape before her gaze. 

For when she moved to feel the grass itself — 

How lovely, yet just trodden on like a street! — 

Her lifted foot disclosed a trampled flower, 

She knew it for a daisy, and shrank back 

In fear of crushing others, but, the field 

So thick their faint-flushed petal-cinctured discs 

Had gemmed, no step could miss them. 

Thither drawn 
At sound of the cough's hoarse strangury, at sight 
Of the bent, fragile figure with one hand 



148 

Stretched down commiserately as though to mend 

The daisy's broken stem, a lady came 

Yet waited watching with a tender phrase 

Left an unvocal image in her mind, 

Made mute by sudden wonder, for the face 

Shone as transformed by crowned expectancy 

Nor from within but from without writ o'er 

By living light ineffably charactered 

Supern from some invisible glory caught. 

The shadow of the lady's wind-swayed dress 

Flickered across the flower; the child glanced up, 

To smile at features kindly smiling down, 

And spake, made confident by their sympathy 

"Please, this is Heaven, isn't it?", nor could be moved 

To change, but looked with calm incredulous eyes 

Not understanding, yet quite satisfied 

That where the daisies grew, there, must be Heaven. 

The bright hours through she lay upon the grass, 
The blossoms round her, Summer all about; 
For one day out of doors with light and love 
In God's pure air — a stranger, yet at home. 

When shone the stars about that pleasant field 
They left her by the gutter in the street 
Laden with posies; dreaming; tired; content. 

Her mother in the morning wakened dazed 
As when she huddled there, and saw the clothes 
Clean, almost new, and snatched them from beside, 
The helpless child, and pawned them, and came back 
[More drunk, and found her still upon the bed 
^\nd could not comprehend the little creature 



149 

Was deathly ill, unable all that day 

To stir, struck down by fever and the dire 

Consumption sucked through years from out the foul 

Low den and fetid drains — nor lingered long; 

Only some week or so with all the while 

A bunch of faded daisies in her hand, 

Moaning and whispering deliriously, 

But cried ere fell the soul's frail walls "How light! 

Where's all the smoke? I knew it must be Heaven!" 

When the rough undertaker who buries them 

Came with the contract coffin ready-made 

To bury that small pauper meekly waiting, 

He raised her carefully and dare not loose 

The clasp of her lank fingers round those flowers. 

Eternal Father, Thou Who didst create 

What things were ever, or are, or will be created, 

And couldst annihilate all things in a breath 

And re-create them in a breath, and hold'st 

All in the hollow of Thine hand, and workest 

In perfect loveliness to perfect ends; 

Who scann'st Infinity, and bid'st them dance 

And know'st the voices of ultimate molecules; 

And permeatest all things with Thy might; 

Thou Who this day, to-morrow, or any day 

Wilt brush away the fly we men call Time; 

O Thou Who madedst and through Motherhood 

Didst send Thy Christ a little child to grow 

A man and walk the sordid earth for us 

And work, and live, and die that we through Him 

Might truelier live eternally in Thee — 

Behold, they murder Childhood in the children! 



150 

great, eternal Father, when Thou send'st 
Thy Christ again in glory with Thy saints, 
Let Milly be remembered! She had none 
To teach her Who Thou art, or who He is — 
Thy Way to Thee — that here Thy heaven is not! 
If — then — the body's atoms are held for proof, 
Oh, He will know her by the dust of those 
Dead daisies 'mid the dust of her dead hands. 

How very patient art Thou, Thou our God! 



THE MOST FOOLISH THING. 

O, brothers, what most foolish is of all 

Our deeds on Earth to-day? That we assign 

Millions of men and money, toil, combine 

To make an army at a tyrant's call 

So he may wield a scourge to lash and thrall 

In brazen show of patriotism divine; 

Thus builds he from the common ill his fine 

Dynastic house; thus blindly we let fall 

Artistic, scientific, industrial bliss, 

The possible attainment of the Best, 

For fanfares, pipe-clay, gilt, the serpent-hiss 

Of bullets, discontent, the unquiet breast; 

Quintessence of all foolishness is this — 

And, brothers, we the stuff whence 'tis expresst! 



i5i 
ACH! ACH! 

"Why, who art thou?", I moaned, 

When for the tenth, the fiftieth, thousandth time 

I rose defeated, bruised, ashamed, 

To the gaunt, nimble, shadowy form 

Who thus inveterate conqueror yet had ne'er 

Familiar grown. "I am Thyself," he snarled, 

"Thine evil self, the fond, permitted sin — 

Wonderest thou therefore that I am so foul?", 

And then withdrew into Myself again. 



INSOMNIA. 

Through a turmoil of thought, 

And struggle for sleep 

I come to the morn; 

The battle is fought, 

The hippogriffs creep; 

O bliss never born! 

Is thy fountain too deep, 

Begirded by thorn? 

Who reaps what I reap 

Hath stubble for corn, 

Haggard-eyed shears a sheep 

Which is long ago shorn. 



ROUNDHEAD SONG. 

When lusty Dick takes down his flail, 
Why doth he curse the breaking day? 



152 

Because no words can yet prevail 
On comely Nell to answer, "Yea." 

He strides along, and gains the barn, 
His thwacks raise high the cloudy chaff — 
He wishes he were in the tarn 
Deep-drowned, and dangs himself for draff. 

Morn brightens, and the mead is decked 
With spangling frost; mists leave the sedge; 
The mill-pool's waters clear reflect 
The pollards leaning o'er the edge. 

To waiting kine lithe lasses bound, 
And deftly drain their udder'd store; 
The wheezy mill-wheel trundles round; 
Dick's thumping shakes the threshing-floor. 

"Confound the girl! a better match 
She seeks, to gather gowns of silk!" 
But ho! a hand doth lift the latch! 
Tis Nelly with her pan of milk. 

When lusty Dick hangs up his flail, 
No happier man can bless the day; 
For kisses win, though words may fail, 
And comely Nell hath answer' d "Yea". 



TO ETHEL ON HER WEDDING-DAY. 

May He who once the Guest of men 
Smiled on a marriage, smile on thine; 
For potent now His hand as then 
To turn Earth's water into wine. 



153 
THE SOVRAN POET. 

The Sovran Poet sits on no chill height 

Feeling for some far, faint divinity, 

But comes and stoops and enters the low dens 

Of men and women racked by wretchedness, 

Stunted and grimed by hunger, drudgery, vice; 

Blends his own being with theirs, breathes with their 

breath, 
Feels with their feelings, glides into their blood 
With pulsings of diviner purposes; 
Craftily lures them from themselves to know 
That God is Love and they shall serve Him best 
Who follow after Love in loving one 
Another — not in apothegm or creed 
But to the sharing of the final crust, 
But to the healing of the loathliest wound, 
But to the bearing of the heaviest load — 
Thus dwelling, working, hoping, waiting with them — ■ 
That is the Sovran Poet, though he write 
No verses — they, the souls he saves, his poems; 
Dumb-golden songs of new-awakened Life. 



Here to-day 
Clad in clay; 
Gone to-morrow, 
What to borrow 
O self-sower — 
Higher, lower 
Type, more bestial, 
More celestial? 



154 

Loving hearts and friendly faces 

If be dearth 

What on earth 

E'er the tender boon replaces? 

Father, mother, sister, brother, 

O, be kind! 

Never blind 

To the good in one another. 



THE BITTER CUP. 

Receiving the cup of life from Him 

I put my lips against the brim, 

And found it bitter, and loathed and spurned; 

When the Lord God as thence I turned 

Forced me back and bruised me sore 

That the cup was bitterer than before; 

But, lo, being told, I drank it up 

And my tears had sweetened the cup. 



OUR HOUSE. 

As God's free souls, where'er water shoals, 
Through sextuple sixty years 
We built our house as wide as the poles 
By the lives of our pioneers. 

Our lads, our sires, ay, our hearts' desires — 
We gave of our very Best 
Where none had faced before them the fires, 
With but Death to reward the quest 



155 

They fought the savage and tamed and claimed 

To hold him a brother's hand, 

And fell struck dead or fiendishly maimed 

As they taught him to till his land. 

They set him school of the British rule 
Of Right and Respect for Life, 

Nor blenched though brained by murder's grim tool- 
Greenstone hatchet or scalping-knife. 

The Boer in vain laid his bloody train — 
Made stripe of our chastisement — 
In thousands slain, disaster, and pain, 
To the joy of the Continent; 

Though slow o'erpassed the infernal blast 
Of German and Gallic ball 
He hurled from rock and trench, yet at last 
We had shattered the Sjambok-thrall; 

A seed his breed never bred nor spread 

We planted within his gate, 

From them shall bloom — our sacrificed dead — 

The fair flower of a British State. 

What ocean's deep doth not hold asleep 
These bravest among our brave? 
What reef- jagged steep hath failed not to reap 
Of them harvest to feed the wave? 

Thus flesh and bone of our very own, 
Its mortar their blood and sweat 
The wall and all the house we have known, 
Or the house we may raise us yet 



156 

He reft our 'Mayflower's' lordly tower — 
That crass Hanoverian! 
Can aught requite the passing of power 
Which made British, American? 

A million years had his race by grace 
Permission to reign, and sow 
Our land with gold, the toll of their place, 
Were it paid us, this debt they owe? 

The house was built for us all, not one! 
That all should with free right share 
The treasure given a tropical sun 
Or a continent otherwhere. 

For great and small, not for one as all, 

For all as for one, we wrought 

Through Time's long aisles where scant light did fall 

And above and beyond our thought. 

A greater home than the mightiest Rome 
E'er won in the times gone by, 
A hive of Earth's richest honeycomb, 
With the honey for low as high. 

Despite our complaisance-ignorance 
When despots would shrewdly lead 
Us back in war and thraldom to dance 
To the tune of dynastic greed; 

Our sloth's excuse for a proved abuse 
That change to a proven good 
Had dragged the heel of Comfort, and Use 
CitefettBttft thfc ifl wtabh stotrfl; 



157 

Our fetich-worship of princeling and king, 

Adoring before their rod 

In humbler fear than ever we bring 

To the throne of the Living God; 

Our foes without or our fools within; 
Our Party and racial wars; 
Our drunkenness, our poverty, sin; 
And the hates of the emperors: — 

Through all defect, made His own elect 
We built us this wondrous thing, 
By aid of Him Whom still we reject 
As our king Who alone is King. 

Thus wrought and plann'd shall dominion stand 
Secure through the world's For Aye? 
Or, ruin 'mid ruins, be blown on the strand 
Of the years of a future day? 

O, proud they were, of imperial air, 
Imperial-imperial crowns, 
Imperial splendour, imperial fair — 
And we plow their imperial towns! 

And wise and just was this faded dust, 
Impartial in law as we; 
Nor less than we nor baser — yet rust 
And a name are their history! 

See to't, o'erbold, who have long controll'd, 
Lest Britain have built in vain, 
And what ye deem a cope of pure gold 
Be but gauds on a window-pane. 



158 

See to't, o'erbold, ye the rule who hold, 
Lest Britain have built in vain — 
Her glory pass, 'a tale' that is 'told', 
And she, too, hath but waxed to wane. 

For tread we may that "imperial" way 
In pomp of an "empire" vast 
To dust and rust and moth and decay 
With the garbage which heaps the Past. 

Its Form's dry-rot, idolatry's blot, 
Corroding Experience, soil 
Of Caste, its fretting tinsel — no jot 
Have we lacking to wreck our toil! 

"Deny, decry not nor purify; 

'Twere crime to eradicate!' 5 , 

Saith Self, " For all — the State — which is I- 

Best be snug than regenerate." 

Our peoples knock at the portal-rock, 
Would enter — the home is theirs, 
Content no more with titular mock 
But demanding the place of heirs. 

Nor longer held in a conqueror's grip, 
By birth or by gift their right 
To bonds of equal citizenship 
Be the citizen black or white; 

To rank of perfected brotherhood, 
The Many to find their soul 
And individual-general Good, 
And enfranchised in self-control; 



159 

Where man's free choice by a man's one voice 

Himself to himself hath lent 

A keystone sure wherein to rejoice — 

The whole Function of " Government." 

Devolved selective whoe'er reflect 
The State, or to make or deal 
Her laws, thus fitted answering direct 
The demands of the common weal; — 

Such laws as patiently educate 
The ignorant State and son 
To integrate that Federal State 
In the Freedom we slowly won; 

As bridge the gangrene-abyss between 
The rich and the destitute, 
That those take Christ's own Golden Mean 
And yield these of its golden fruit; 

As reconstruct and attain; disdain 

The politic Wrong's caress 

Of gain; though flayed with losses maintain 

To the uttermost, Righteousness; 

As purge out lies in the dauntless wise 
Of Liberty's lusty health; 
Link light-drawn bonds of enduring ties 
Through our marvellous Commonwealth. 

Not less than men they we seat as meet 

In office, nor more divine; 

While old and young are starved in the street 

Dare we still gem an idol-shrine? 



i6o 

Is here no pocket-inheritance 
Conventionalism shall fine, 
Or Superstition set us the dance, 
Or be-label our peoples, "Mine." 

Shall men grow dense in intelligence 
Or fail in the Higher Plan? 
Or lose their prime, conservative sense? 
Were not "governments" made by man? 

The "moral force" of our Press the cess 
Paid Him we reject as King? 
His Christ a corse? none loyal unless 
They kneel low to some human thing? 

Behold, the gray of a Larger Day 
Hath broke through the ages' mist! 
Imperialism will melt in its ray 
With the slime of the anarchist. 

And there, made fair, in that clearer air 
Our purified house sublime 
Shall square upbear through tempests that dare 
And outlast e'en insatiate Time. 



SOUTH AFRICA. 
(1899- 1 902.) 

I 
O Thou Great Love Divine 
Are not Thy children Thine 
Shadow to deal with shine, 
Myrrh and the mingled wine? 



161 

II 
Yea, we have swerved and lagged, 
Paltered and grossly bragged, 
Heard Thee yet held us gagged 
Weaponed hands weakly sagged, 
Low through the dust have dragged 
Faith in the Better Thing — 
Naught ours Thou dost not bring: 
Christ is the Britons' King. 

Ill 
Bruised in the Victory sent 
Boon is that chastisement 
If ta'en Thy Love's intent: 
Wits with our Daring blent, 
Blindness and Blundering spent, 
Banned doltish Precedent, 
System and Vision lent, 
Mastery whate'er the Event. 

IV 
Comfort the agonized 
Losing those idolized 
Dear ones for whom the door 
Never may open more: 
Ocean-rent brothers met 
Clasped in war's bloody sweat, 
Heart with heart, hand in hand ; 
Where'er the widowed strand 
Sons of one Motherland. 



1 62 

V 
Deal them who hold the plow 
Firm thews, unfaltering brow, 
Through the fresh field Thou'st given 
Straight be the furrow riven 
Deep the keen coulter driven, 
Thick sown the good seed there, 
Tilled with unresting care — 
Thine quickening rains and air — 
From acres age-long bare 
Garnered full Freedom fair. 

VI 

Grant us this weightiest need 
Knowledge 'twas Thou indeed 
Held the tough Boer to breed 
Anguish and lives that bleed, 
Shame, and the nations' greed; 
Knowledge Thou hadst decreed 
Harvest of bitter seed, 
That, as Thou deign'st to speed, 
Following we shall be freed, 
Following we shall be drawn, 
Nor Gold's nor Glory's pawn, 
Purged to a fairer dawn; 
Through gloom and lifting gray, 
Gun-flash and battle-fray, 
Hates' mockery, fools' dismay, 
On to that Larger Day! 



163 

THE INSTRUMENT. 

Confound thou not the Music with the reed 

Through which 'tis poured; the Master's touch is there; 

His breath is blown; His is the lovely air, 

The noble harmony, live rhythm, the freed 

Exultant rapture, soaring song; the Meed 

His very own nor any man's; the rare 

Effect, the thrilling resonance, the fair 

Persuasion, barbed suggestion, thoughts that breed 

Still keener thought wherewith to plow the heights 

And sound the depths — are His, not mine, nor thine, 

But His Whose mighty Hand majestic smites 

into poor human strings the tone divine, 

Invests the darkling soul with shining lights, 

And turns the laggard blood to potent wine. 



A NOBLE LOVE 



167 



A NOBLE LOVE. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 

Hugo, Count de St. Maur. 
Raymond, Lord of Ver. 
Lionel De Toesni. 
Gerard, Steward to Hugo. 
Drogo, body-servant to Raymond. 
Bontaine, a physician. 
Stephen, clerk and notary to Raymond. 
Bernardo, armourer to Hugo. 
Giles, servant to Hugo. 
Anselmo, Prior at St. Michael's Mount. 
Thomas, Chancellor of the Monastery. 
Witmund, Almoner of the Monastery. 
Janitor, at the Monastery. 
Eunonia, daughter to Hugo. 
Berthalind, her tire-woman. 
Servants, Monks. 



Scene: Normandy. During first four acts, at Hugo's 
castle, St. Maur, near Avranches; during the fifth 
act, at the Monastery of Mount St. Michael, known 
as Sancti Michaclis in periculo maris. 



i68 
A NOBLE LOVE. 

Scene I. — Room in Count Hugo's castle. Giles, other 
Servants, and Gerard. 

Giles. — Is it true, then, good master Gerard? 

Gerard. — Is it true, quotha? Is what true? is it true — or 
is it true? Go to, knave! thou hast no fine percep- 
tion of logic and the moral art. Surely with so 
loose a tongue and doodle-brained a head thou wilt 
burn hereafter! Put thy question as a man, plainly, 
perspicaciously, compendiously; and as a man I will 
plainly, perspicaciously, and compendiously give 
answer. 

Giles. — Faith, I did but ask a question ! 

Gerard. — There I do join issue — for thou didst not ask a 
question, but merely, as one may say, fumbled with 
thy tongue in the vain hope of making thyself un- 
derstood. Why, hadst thou asked a question, I 
had answered thee by now. 

Servant (aside). — There be new things under the sun, 
then — spite of the Preacher! 

Giles. — Well, resolve me this — concerning which I have 
the curiosity of a long-tongued lass — 

Gerard.^— Resolve thee what? 

Giles. — I am coming to it. 

Gerard. — Thou art so long a-coming to it, that ere thou 
arrive I shall be gone; for Guy did just say our 
gracious lord was seeking me. 

Giles. — Is it true, then, that our Lady Eunonia will wed 
with Sir Lionel? 

Gerard. — God save the man! What conglomeration of 
itteas giveth vent ttf stf fantastical a nbtio'n? 



169 

Giles. — Ideas? What be they? Nay, 'tis not ideas, but 
things I have seen as passing between them. 

Gerard. — Giles, thou wert none so bad a fellow had thy 
mother forgotten to supply thee with eyes and 
speech ; but even so, I doubt not, thou wouldst have 
smelt out impossibilities with thy nose! Yet, good 
Master Simpleton, knowst thou not that what thy 
mother pretermitted may even now be done by 
stout arms and iron? 

Giles. — Save the mark, Master Gerard! I have not the 
meaning — 

Gerard. — Nay, if thou hast not the meaning I am at one 
with thee; for there is no meaning in thy foolish 
question, and therefore I can not answer the same, 
because, seest thou, to give thine own meaning to 
another man's, he having none, were indeed a diffi- 
cult thing. 

Enter Lionel De Toesni, at back, he advances 
slowly, a red rose in one hand. 

Servant. — Hist! hist! See ye not where Sir lionel 

cometh ? 
Gerard (to Giles.) — Hold thy foolish prate, thou limber- 

tongued chatter-me-much ! 
Lionel. — Good Gerard, a word with. thee. 
Gerard. — A thousand, your worship. Stand away ye 

loons ! Doth a gentleman like to open his heart 

before scullions? 

Exeunt Giles and Servants. 

Gerard. — Whence comest thou, Sir Lionel? an I may 
make so bold? 



I JO 

Lionel. — From a fencing-bout with the armourer; and, 
my faith! that same Spaniard hath an eagle's eye 
and a wrist of steel. 

Gerard. — He saith the same of your worship, and glad 
am I to hear it, for that same wrist of thine must 
e'en carve a fortune in the wars. 

Lionel. — True, true! ere this I should have joined our 
army in the field, but — but — 

Gerard. — Silken jesses bind the falcon. 

Lionel. — Ay, my good friend; still doth Count Hugo chide 
"Young man, away! thy place is now the field! 
War's loud alarum calleth thee afar, 
Where hosts embattled wage grim toil. To arms! 
To arms!", and I say nothing to his cry, 
But vow to answer with a mighty deed 
Of valour, which shall lift me to the skies 
Of fair renown and well-won fame — anon. 

Gerard. — Anon? tarry no longer! I have watched thee 
well 
And, cared I to be cruel, now could crush 
The fond hope burning in thy soul. Seek not 
In idle peace the work of manhood; they 
Who rule the world know not the name of peace. 

Lionel. — Ere the young moon wax big I will away 
And equal Raymond in the path of war! 

Gerard. — There breathed Toesni's noble soul! 

Lionel. — Gerard ! 

Gerard. — What is't? 

Lionel. — Did our fair lady pass this place? 

Gerard. — Not since the morning. 

Lionel. — Whither can she have stol'n? 

Gerard. — Nay, nay, forbear, Sir Lionel; seek her not! 
Linger no longer by Eunonia here — 



i;i 

The daughter of St Maur — wouldst be her mate 
Ere thou hast dwelt in camps and mixed with men? 
Lionel. — Nay, only this — the first rose of the Spring 
I swore, when Winter reigned, to find and bear 
Unto her. Lo! an Empress 'mid the flowers! 
I yearn to watch it pale upon her heart! 
Methinks I see her floating robes! thy slave, 
Peerless Eunonia, hastens to thy feet! 

Exit Lionel impulsively. 
Gerard. — O Youth, and Hope, and Love, and Foolery! 
Why can I not plain language to this boy? 
Why should I let his ardent passions grow 
With fatal strength until they thrust him o'er 
The precipice, when with a single word 
His airy castles may be tumbled down? 
True friendship alway dares to deal an ill, 
So that the ill of good productive be; 
Yet here I stumble, though the need is plain, 
Too tender! When the blow should fall, instead 
Comes back again his dying sire's entreaty, 
"Be ever kind to him, Gerard, and Heaven 
Will bless thee; ay, for Hugo hath his own!" 
Young Lionel found another father, I 
Another master — let that master strike, 
Tis but his right! in me 'twere impudence. 

Scene II: — The Same. 

Enter Count Hugo and Raymond. 

Raymond. — Ha, friend Gerard! how runs the world with 
thee 
This cheerful Spring-time? 



172 

Gerard. — Evenly, my lord, 

For he who in these kindly walls is lodged 
Hath all old men may carry. 

Huge. — Tush, Gerard! 

I am thine elder, yet since Lord Raymond here 
Hath shone upon us from the world of war, 
I seem to gather strength and youth, and long 
To break a lance with any knight alive. 

Gerard. — Yea, my good lord? in truth I may believe 

Thou dost so hunger, but Gaffer-with-the-scythe 
Hath marked his heavy signet on thy brow, 
And shrivelled all the sinews of thine arm, 
And dried the sap and marrow of thy bones, 
And pinched thy breath, and only made addition 
To thy well-rounded paunch. 

Hugo. — Sirrah, thou liest! I 

As yet am stout a man as any alive! 
Ho! ho! ... lend me thine arm, good fellow; how 
This cough doth nip me! 

Gerard. — I told thee thus 'twould be 

If thou shouldst intermit thy morning posset. 

Hugo. — Be silent, blabber! But a spasm — and past. 

Raymond. — I'faith the enemy gripped thee sore. Alas! 
Why must we age with age, nor e'er withstand 
The sure revenges of long-suffering Time! 

Hugo. — Gerard, pray get thee gone — thou dost so clipped 
Of calf, so reft of health, so wizen'd of arm, 
So coughing-full, and big of belly appear, 
That I with mere beholding shall become 
Like to thyself, an aged, white-bearded carle. 
Nay, go — the good Lord Raymond and myself 
Have much to speak of, and would be alone. 



Gerard. — Farewell. God keep ye both, my lords! 

Hugo. — Amen. 

Exit Gerard. 
Ha, seest thou now how use and habit creep 
On suffered custom till this blanched Gerard 
Doth deem himself as good a man as I! 

Raymond. — Why, comrade, dear, no younger do we grow; 
My grizzle-beard lies not so to my face. 

Hugo. — Tush! what art thou but stripling? Well I mind 
When we rode forth together from these gates, 
First tasting war, a sturdy knight and squire. 

Raymond. — But that's a tale of seven and twenty years! 
And knowst thou not that when five winters more 
Shall cast their snows upon this frosty head 
Their sum will number half a century? 

Hugo. — Talk not to me of grizzle-beards and heads! 
Why, if thou numberest half a thousand years 
Yet keep thine own and wear green heart within, 
The fiend himself dare never call thee old. 
Ay, though thou wert the baldest-pated knave 
Who ever strove to eat an apple with bare gums! 

Raymond. — How firm a front! Twigs from a dying oak! 
As thou dost will, dear Hugo; let us grow 
But younger as the merry years pass on; 
And if Gerard or other ancient clown 
Should sourly swear that Time will not release 
A single atom from his insatiate maw 
For thee, for me, for any, I will vow 
He hath knocked his head against the moon, and 

views 
Our youth and freshness with a lunatic eye! 
But what was this great business thou didst plead 



174 

As answer when I asked thee forth to breathe 
The halesome morning air? 

Hugo. — Raymond the Soldier! 

But three days loosed from the long drag of war 
And wouldst be vaulting charger-back? No rest 
From care and stratagem and war-worn hours 
Hath blest thee since twelve years ago we came 
Together here — thou the new general, I 
Eased by our King of service in the field. 

Raymond. — 'Tis true, yet glorying in the fate which made 
My life as thou hast pictured, war and toil 
Became a second nature, and were borne 
As easily as are the stormy winds 
By the lone bird of ocean. 

Hugo. — Hast thou forgot 

Old friend, my little maid, thy bride? 

Raymond. — My bride? 

Thy little maid? 

Hugo. — What ! art thou dazed, and gape 

On me astonished? 

Raymond. — Hugo; my bride, say est thou? 

Thy words do stun me with amazement! I 
Have never sought nor wooed a woman, save 
Bellona. 

Hugo. — Give good leave — our places change; 

So I am younger, thou the elder grown; 
And through twelve summers Memory leadeth back 
And in unfading beauty paints thy bride. 

Raymond. — Why, did not I but late recall the time 
When seven and twenty years ago we rode 
Away together? 

Hugo. — Then torn in halves, 

Or broken-kneed, or winded, or besmirched 



m 

With dust and fury of the fight, thy mind 
Hath lost the count of circumstances when 
Alone thou wendedst hence and left me here. 

Raymond. — What is't? ... I know . . . 

Hugo. — Dear dullard, have I jogged 

The remnant of thy recollection hoar? 
iMost ancient gentleman, my youthful sides 
Would split in laughter at thy working face. 

Raymond. — True! true! O what an oaf, a dolt am I! 
Eunonia, on my soul! That darling child 
Who placed her hand in mine, and gazed with large, 
Deep eyes in wondering ignorance at the scene! 
Hugo, forgive me if I slighted thee. 
By the fair heavens above, 'twas clean forgot! 
Still, I have marked no child within thine house! 

Hugo. — A child? Whence dost thou think our women 
grow? 
May twelve long years pass o'er her head and leave 
My daughter as they found her? Though a child — 
I bless the Father for it — she remains 
In all the pure and innocent things which make 
A heaven of childhood to the hearts of men. 

Raymond. — In truth she must be woman grown by this. 

Hugo. — Why, Raymond, art thou blind! Nay, that's an 
eye 
As clear, unshrinking as my falcon's. 

Raymond. — Blind? 

Yes, I am blind, or have been blind; for now 
I do remember, in the banquet-hall 
But yestereve, she sat beside me — yet 
Most strenuous effort fails to repossess 
My blurr'd perceptions, of her form, 
Her voice, her features, nor a trace nor tone! 



i 7 6 

Hugo. — Ah, Raymond, spite of protestation, thotl 
Hast left thy heart with some high dame afar, 
And if she be not imaged, trusty sight 
Will limn no picture of another. 

Raymond. — No ! 

But sudden change from busy war to these 
Sweet ways of peace is all too great as yet 
For mind and body, which, familiar grown 
With life and action utterly unlike, 
Oft fail to apprehend the present — take 
No thought together, nor make due response; 
So that the eye may see and yet neglect 
To send her message to the wandering brain: 
Or, if the brain receive, 'twill be with doubt 
The impression is mere visual prankishness. 

Hugo. — In the same fashion 'twas with me when first 
I left the camp for quiet hours at home. 
Waked by the warder's horn, in haste would don 
My coat of mail and clank along the hall 
Ere my dazed senses overtook the fault; 
Or from my meat rise sudden, and sharply cry, 
"Pack up the baggage! We shift our camp to- 
night." 
And send bewildered serving-men to bear 
My captains orders for the coming brunt! 
But this will quickly wear. Now do I claim 
The due fulfilment of thy knightly vow. 
The reasons which twelve years ago were pressed 
On my too anxious mind resistless grow 
As nears the journey every man must take. 

Raymond. — Dear Hugo, all too sadly dost thou view 
The prospect of thine honourable age. 



177 

Why thou'rt as good a man as I myself, 
And hast a lusty look and wilt live long! 

Hugo. — If thou didst hold the tenure of my life 
It might be as thou sayest; not for myself 
But for Eunonia do I dread the change. 
She safe with thee, then, come what may, I care not. 

Raymond. — Wouldst have me wed her, Hugo? 

Hugo. — Surely, yes! 

She is a woman grown and sweetly blest 
With all her lovely mother's beauty — pure 
As angels are — a gem of womanhood. 

Raymond. — But I am old. 

Hugo. — I am thine elder far, 

And yet not very old; still art thou young 
In all which makes the manhood of a man. 

Raymond. — So long a consonance with my life as 'tis 
Hath left no skill of wooing, nor desire 
To mate and have a double being — half mine, 
Half hers— 

Hugo. — What need for thee to woo? therein 

Her father's wish sufficeth! 

Raymond. — Yet, bethink, 

She may not will a wedding. I have heard 
That maids do sometimes hate the sight of man. 

Hugo. — Excuse me no excuses! as for that, 
Why, she most constantly with Lionel is, 
Nor, to my knowledge, ever hath complained 
Of his most frequent presence! 

Raymond. — Pledged am I — 

If thou art fixed on this, my bride shall be 
Thy fair Eunonia; yet 'tis a mighty chance 
That one so rugged, plain, and soldier-like 
Should please her changing fancy! 



i;8 

Hugd.*** Wilt thoil not 

Yield without inurmur? By my father's bones 
An thou dost love her not when thou hast marked 
The splendid graces which are all her own — 
More fully than thy stranger eye yet knows; 
If thou shouldst love her not, nor further yearn 
To sip the sweets which open to thy hand, 
Then I absolve thee from thy promise given 
To ease my soul in bitter days of dread, 
And thou shalt stand released from knightly troth. 

Raymond. — Be it as thou dost say, O generous heart! 

Hugo. — Let us go find her now, and I will speak 
To her of thee. 

Raymond. — Do thou go first, old friend, 

And I anon will follow: let me taste 
The morning air and feel again the breeze; 
Twill give me grace to stand before a dame. 

Hugo. — Go then, but tarry not — we shall await 
Thy coming in the pictured gallery. 
Exeunt severally. 

Scene III. — Long Pictured Gallery in Count Hugo's Castle. 
Eunonia, discovered. 

Eunonia. — I wonder where may Lionel be? Whose hand 
Hath plucked my beauteous rose, the first rose born 
To Spring? My rose! my rose of roses! mine 
For Lionel. Have I not watched alone the bud 
Slow forming on the tender shoot, and swell 
Day after day until it burst to flower! 
Have I not nursed it as a sister might? 
Sheltered from storm, and frost, and wind, and rain? 
And all to lose it when perfection came 
And crowned its blushing petals — crowned it king 



m 

Of roses' rose-land — sovran of the flowers! 
Lionel was with me when I spied it first 
Just venturing on the bough, a tiny round 
Of green scarce large enough to see. He swore 
By all the pretty gods of Love to pluck 
And bring me soon the first rose of the Spring. 
But I in very wilfulness did cry 
"Nay, for the blossomy prize shall be my gift 
To thee — thou shalt forswear thyself!". And he, 
He laughed and chided me in tender guise, 
And vowed I dared not 'mid the bramble press, 
Or they would straight enfold me in their arms 
And charm me to a dryad of the forest. 
But well I marked the treasure, nor did guide 
By any look of mine his questioning gaze. 
He saith that ere the young moon grow a sphere 
He will depart and quickly equal Raymond — 
That sad, stern man whose visage only tells 
Of stormy war, and toil, and statesmanship — 
For time is ripe that he should prove himself 
To be the head of Toesni's regal line, 
And have the attainder thrown o'er name and state 
Reversed by deeds of daring in the field. 
Ah me, what pity 'tis! why can he not 
Remain at rest within our peaceful walls. 
How I do love him! When he goes, who then 
Will make this castle fairest spot on earth, 
And days glide quickly by that scarce they tell 
What may be morn, or noon, or eventide! 
That rose! whose hand hath plucked the lovely 
thing? 

Enter Lionel, drawing nearer from behind with 

the rose in his hand. 



i go 

Lost flower, like my lost mother dost thou seetti, 
Thy beauty viewed by others, not by me. 

Lionel. — (giving her the rose). 

Then gaze thy fill, let beauty look on beauty! 
Dearest Eunonia, 'tis the Spring's first rose! 

Eunonia. — (surprised). Lionel! ... my rose? 

Lionel. — Thy rose indeed, fair saint; 

How fairer far than this the gem of all 
Fair roses! 

Eunonia. — The Spring's first rose? 

Lionel. — Did I not swear 

While each sweet flower by wintry snows was pris- 
oned 
To find, when Spring should come, her first red rose 
And bear it thee? Dost thou forget mine oath? 

Eunonia. — Dost thou forget I promised thee forsworn? 

Lionel. — Could I forget a single word which falls 

From those pure lips! O, hear me Heaven above, 
And rain black ravin on my head if e'er 
I do forget! 

Eunonia, — Whence didst thou gain the rose? 

Lionel. — There where the gnarled oak bends nigh o'er 
the brook, 
Straight from the ladies' postern. Often we 
Have lingered by the place and lost all count 
Of time, our spirits bowed beneath the charm 
Of glory heaped o'er land and sky and sea. 
This morn in search of thee I hastened thither, 
And as my seeking glance went wandering round, 
I marked a lovely blossom pressing her cheek 
Against the chamfered bosom of the tree, 
And therewith rushed upon my soul the vow 
So happily made to thee. I seized the bloom — 



i8i 

Sheltered within a hollow of the rind 

And nursed as 'twere by some enguarding fay 

From wind and battering rain — "Eunonia's rose!" 

I cried, as in my grasp it lay, "the first 

Rose of the Spring! I pluck thee for thy queen, 

O favoured blossom, and fulfil my vow." 

And all the morning since, — within the wall — 

Without, — I sought thee, nor could find — as one 

Who galled by darkness deems the sun is dead. 

Eunonia. — O Lionel, dost thou know how long I watched 
This truant bloom and twined it on the bole, 
That its fair face should all unfretted be 
When from my hand thou hadst received it? 

Lionel. — H eaven s ! 

Had I but known! what bliss! 

Eunonia. — Forlornly I 

Reached after thee that oak and missed my rose, 
And far and wide I searched if haply one 
Fair brother had opened to the early Spring — 
But not a bud hath bloomed save this. 

Lionel. — I found 

The rose for thee yet lost it for myself! 
Then place it o'er thy heart, there let it die 
In envy of the hues it may not wear. 

She places it in her bosom 

While I shall die in envy of the rose! 

Eunonia. — The sun hath loved this blossom. 

Lionel. — Even he, 

All-loving one, for thy dear sake hath been 
A partial lover, and, as thou hadst made 
That sweet flower holy by thy care, compelled 
Perfection while her sisters wait unblown. 



I&2 

EunoMd. — The sun would scorn thy fable— Hark! me- 
seems 
My father calleth. 

Makes as if going. 

Lionel. — Echoes! stay awhile 

O gentlest of St. Maur's exalted race! 
Why hast thou shunned me these three cruel days 
Last gone? 

Eimonia. — Art thou not hastening hence? 'tis well 
That thou shouldst have foretaste of absence, I 
Do deem it most commodious withal! 

Lionel. — So lovely and unkind! 

Eimonia. — Sir Lionel, 

Shouldst thou not welcome counsel which would 

send thee 
Thus gallantly to stirring scenes of war; 
Would bind no longer to the lazy wheel 
Of laggard hours thy courage and desire? 

Lionel. — (aside) — Till now, I dreamt she loved me! 

Eimonia. — Here, one day 

Like to another passeth, there, each hour 
Teems with new accident and gathers force 
Of deed and triumph; here, my father, I, 
And Berthalind, with some score men-at-arms, 
Make all the comrades told thy ardent soul 
May know; while princes, in the camp, shall throng 
To press thy hand in friendship, and high dames 
Joy in thy prowess and sing thy praise at court! 

Lionel. — (aside) — Bitter is wintry blast in summer-time! 

Eimonia. — In this dull castle foes may ne'er be found; 
But there, like Raymond, thy right hand shall flag 
Only with fill of slaying enemies 



183 

In e'er increasing tale; while here — save one, 
Or two, perhaps — the people all do love thee! 

Lionel. — (aside) — Why, is the mild Eunonia she who 
speaks? 

Eunonia. — What canst thou be in this my father's house 
But young Sir Lionel, hardly more than boy? 
While, with bright fame and glittering honours won, 
The groaning earth shall shrink beneath thy tread; 
Go and be great! they win who durst adventure! 

Lionel. — Amazement floods my senses, for thy words — 
Breathing of war, and slaughter, and camp, and 

court — 
Semble thy former self as doth the eagle 
Some nest-abiding dovelet. 

Eunonia. — (aside) — What have I done? 

Lionel. — He lives not on the earth nor ever lived, 
Who, hearing thee, could for a moment's flash 
Think or do aught but rush into the field! 
With thee for Mentor, Horace had not turned 
From red Philippi, while Alexander's arm 
Scorning to rule this pigmy world, had swift 
Bridged the abysses and conquered all the stars. 

Eunonia. — (aside) — O, what a fire this hateful tongue hath 
lit! 

Lionel. — 'S 'death, I would league with Satan to find 
wings 
That might this instant bear me to the fight! 

Eunonia. — (aside) — Alas! he thinks of me no more. 

Lionel. — What joy 

To press among the charging squadrons! bliss, 
To bury deep within a foeman's throat 
My father's trusty sword! Glory and War 
These are the things for which a man should live! 



1 84 

Away with calm content and idleness! 

Shall I rust here while Fortune may be won? 

Thanks, take, sweet Eunonia, my eternal thanks, 

For thou hast pointed with no faltering hand 

To duty and the path which lies before. 

O, foul befall my foolishness, that I 

So long have struggled 'gainst Count Hugo's wish 

To join the brave Lord Raymond! 

Eunonia. — Where is need 

Of such a sudden haste? 

Lionel. — Need? why the heavens, 

The very heavens and all the earth, cry shame 
On lagging! There is nothing now to bind 
Me longer here. 

Eunonia. — What! nothing? — nothing here? 

Lionel. — O, 'tis the basest of ingratitude 

To say so! Ten long years of peace beneath 
The holy shade of these ancestral towers 
Bear witness of a friendship strong as death, 
Of loving hearts, of gracious presences, 
Of all that could enchain a boy to home! 
Ay, and the home is mine, although a stranger 
I gained this portal fresh from a father's arms. 
For havened here, scarce have my youthful eyes 
Turned back to childhood's dim, familiar things, 
And in thy father mine hath lived again. 

Eunonia. — O happy thus! why shouldst thou ever change? 

Lionel. — Honour and Duty call me, though their call 
Was nigh forgotten until it thrilled through thee. 

Eunonia. — The wayward folly of a maiden's tongue! 

Lionel. — Yet if it chime with my resolve? 

Eunonia. — Be sure 

That thy resolve is not a right resolve, 



For like to like doth cleave; if therefore I 
Do falsehood speak in very wilfulness, 
Flee the conclusions which may hang thereon; 
And shouldst thou have a purpose seemingly 
Built up by such a falseness, quick resign it! 

Lionel. — But I have sworn to old Gerard that ere 
The young moon waxes big I would away. 

Eunonia. — Gerard did tell me, yet thou knowest well 
I promised thee forsworn on this dear rose! 
And seeing thou hast made me perjured thus, 
Let me be perjured in thy company, 
Be thou my fellow-sinner! 

Lionel. — Were I man 

And scorn such union? Oaths and promises, 
Eunonia breaks your bondage! Sinner-saint, 
Give me full absolution for the deed. 

Eunonia. — What absolution can a sinner give 
Who needeth absolution as thyself? 

Lionel. — Eunonia, look on me a penitent 
Imploring pardon, that my erring mind 
Failed to discern when thou didst bid me go 
Thou trulier badst me stay! 

Eunonia. — I bid thee stay? 

Lionel. — Sweet banterer, have thou mercy on my soul! 
Enter Count Hugo at back of gallery. 

Scene IV. — The Same. 

Hugo. — Eunonia! 

Eunonia. — Here am I, my father. 

Hugo.— Child, 

May the bright heavens bestow their benison 
And shield thy gentle head from earthly storms! 



i86 

Were my poor will a fate-compelling power 
Then shouldst thou never know a moment's pain! 

Eunonia. — Dear father, if the time to come is blest 
As hath the happy past been by thy love, 
Life's truer sunshine waits me. 

Hugo. — Ah, my girl, 

I have no charm to bind the eager hours, 
And green leaves must replace the fallen brown. 
Yet there are some who scorn the touch of Time 
Nor yield one tittle to his leeching hand. 
See the Lord Raymond now, how strong a soul, 
How firm, how upright, how divorced from all 
That tells of human frailness; such an one 
Stands like a rock above the whirling foam, 
Daring the rage which shattereth weaker stuff — 
To speak of him I sought thee — 

Lionel. — Dear my lord, 

Shall I be gone? 

Hugo. — O, 'tis no secret — stay — 

It may concern thee, for thy warlike plans 
Must be delayed; in brief, an end unthought 
Is made to the long campaign. What seemed a 

truce 
When Raymond left the field — mere breathing- 
time — 
Hath grown assured peace, so the good king 
But now advised our loving friend; and he, 
Delight of all my days! in token of old love 
And bonds of amity between us fixed, 
Will serve his fair apprenticeship to peace 
Within these walls — a brother and son in one. 

Lionel. — 'Tis a rare honour that so mighty a man 



i8 7 

Pays to thy house, dear lord; and surely ne'er 
Have nobler hearts in nobler friendship beat. 
Eunonia. — Alas ! 

Hugo.— How now, Eunonia, hast no smile? 

Eunonia.— Though the Lord Raymond had not met these 
eyes 
Since I a tender child looked up with awe 
Unto his glittering helm and dancing plume, 
And placed a tiny hand within his gauntlet, 
His name is dreadful to me. 
Hu g°-- Glory stamps 

Such greatness on some mortals, that a maid 
Living afar from bustle of camp or court 
Quakes when a name is told! 
Lionel— (aside)— Now am j glad 

I have not won such greatness! 
Hu g°-— When thou'rt wed, 

My daughter, Raymond shall be dear as e'er 
Was lord to lady. 
Eunonia.— Wed? .... my father! what 

Is this? - 
Lionel— (aside)— My God! what horror holds me palsied! 
Hugo.— Wed did I say, and wedded do I mean— 

For thou, though even a child, wert bound to him 
In fast betrothal at my side. 
Eunonia.— What? No! 

My father! art thou dreaming? am I mad? 

Hugo.— Tush, girl, these maiden wiles are all too clear, 
For graybeards know the inconstant sex, and shun 
To lean on such a reed. Young Lionel, mark! 
When thou hast won a bride, be not so long 
In wedding. See ye now, her wits have clean 
Forgot her plighted lord. 



% 



iB8 

Eunonia. — (to Lionel)— O Lionel! Lionel! 

Lionel. — (to Eunonia) — My love, I trust thee! — 

Hugo. — When this unhappy war 

Broke out twelve years ago, my place was where 
The foeman smote his fiercest — mine by right. 
Her mother passed beyond to Paradise, 
My only fear was for the little maid 
Orphaned within the castle. Then our arms 
After a twelvemonth's fighting forced a truce. 
Blessing the respite, Raymond and myself 
Together journeyed here. I pondered much 
On all the chances of a soldier's life 
And straightway, he being younger than myself 
By fifteen years, asked Raymond to be lord 
Of this, my little maid. Though such a thing 
Did raise his laughter, in sheer knightliness 
He gave consent; for I bethought me, should 
My blood be spilt in war, nor kith nor kin 
Hath she, my little maid, to shield and bless. 
When thou hast children, Lionel, thou mayst know 
What shuddering through a parent's heart will run, 
As Fancy pictures dear ones left all lonely. 
Praise be to God! our king did me relieve 
From further service in the field; but they, 
My child and Raymond, plighted lord and spouse 
Were bound, and so must ever bound remain. 

Lionel. — O God! the day is dark! 

Eunonia. — Still mine, my love! 

Raymond enters up the gallery. Hugo moves 
back towards him. 
Hugo. — Here comes Lord Raymond; he shall speak for 
himself. 



1 89 

Eunonia. — O Lionel, I am innocent of this! 

Lionel — Did not thy father tell thee? 

Eunonia. — But as a jest 

He would, when in a merry humour, say 
"How now, Lord Raymond's lady?" On my soul, 
I deemed it but a jest — a jest — a jest! 

Hugo (to Raymond. — What think you? 

Raymond. — I have been a dolt, a dull 

Decaying idiot, and blind mole! Have I seen 
Her lovely features, and not on bended knee 
Bowed low in adoration? O divine 
In beauty, blossomed to perfect womanhood, 
Yet wearing all a gentle maiden's grace! 
Can she indeed be mine? 

Hugo. — Dost want release 

From knightly troth? 

Raymond. — Nor heaven nor hell shall tear 

Her from me! 

Hugo. — She is waiting, all thine own! 

Eunonia. — Oh make me mad, dear God, or slay me else! 

Raymond. — (to Eunonia) — Sweet lady, may I dare to kiss 
thy hand, 
In hope thou dost remember me? 

Eunonia. — My lord — 

My father — Lionel — I — (She swoons.) 

Raymond supports her. 

Lionel. — Oh, ye have slain her! 

Hugo. — Tush, boy, be not so forward! She hath 
swooned 

O'erjoyed to hear thee, Raymond. 
Raymond. — Why so blest! 

LoVe, Joy, and Peace in one, within mine arms! 



190 

ACT II. 

Scene I. — Another room in Count Hugo's Castle. 
Enter Berthalind. 

Bcrthalind. — Our affections are perfect tyrants, for run 
contrary to them in the smallest degree, they quickly 
rise in open rebellion, depose our reason, and reign 
in his stead, with a plentiful sprinkling of tears, 
whirlwind of sighs, tempest of protestations, and 
vows foolish though earnest, till the devil himself 
knows not how to calm the hurricane. Women are 
notably the most discreet and silent of all mortals, and 
yet, what think you! doth my young mistress these 
last three days, but moan in mine ear, "O Berthalind, 
an he wed me I shall die!"? Proper insanity, for- 
sooth! the Lord Raymond being a passable man, 
indeed, for a man who is, as a body may say, of a 
certain age. Yet what are years when the gentle- 
man hath high rank? a grizzle-beard when he is 
wealthy? or ugliness, if his blood be blue? Nothing 
to a woman of wit: they are but signs of a speedy 
release, and speak a larger promise than any he can 
make by word of mouth. O Fortune, what a mul- 
titude of faults dost thou cover! Were Lord Ray- 
mond .a blackamoor and wanted a wife, I know 
some one who would not wail, "An he wed me I 
shall die!" Still, poor lady, she means it, and 
there's the difference. She can not mould herself 
to circumstances, nor hath the wisdom to perceive 
when she is best bestowed. This is the disadvantage 
of being a lady born and bred, for they get such 
fmnicking and fine fancies that any ordinary man 
may not coine within ten mile. I thank God I am 



T 9 I 

not proud, and so long as the lad loves me and is 
honest he shall not call me unkind. If a perverse 
inclination should ever cast me into the arms of a 
sweetheart, I will e'en be contented, nor seek to 
scratch his face. Tis strange that my lady should 
be so distraught, and show me such a poor, dark- 
ringed eye to look at the golden sun withal; and 
yet it is not strange, when one thinks how from 
childhood she hath played with young Sir Lionel, 
and given him her heart ere she knew she had one. 
But Sir Lionel is poor and hath no renown, while 
Lord Raymond hath castles of his own and is fa- 
mous. The youngster hath no chance against the 
oldster, while, God love her, my Lady Eunonia may 
not choose between them, because her father, Count 
Hugo, hath chosen for her. As to that, being more 
unable than men to make their likes and dislikes 
known, it is questionable whether women do ever 
choose their husbands. It goeth hard with a wom- 
an, though, if, after marriage, he who hath chosen 
her discovers himself mistaken in so choosing. 
Wherefore, meseemeth best to so encourage and 
wheedle the man preferred that, will-he nill-he, he 
shall become your chooser, but a chosen chooser. 
Thus, i' faith, he simply, as your mouth-piece, asks 
himself to marry you, by asking you to marry him. 
Yet if other folk choose where you would not, and 
their choice must be held, 'tis like swimming a 
river with a strange pair of legs where drowning 
more surely follows than salvation. Hark! I know 
that slouching step, crawling along as if ashamed 
to leave its brother clod; 'tis Giles, who hath the 
presumption of a man-at-arms without any other 



192 

quality, good or bad, to recommend or condemn 
him. 

Enter Giles. 

Giles. — God save you, Mistress Berthalind. My master, 
Sir Lionel, hath despatched me with a message for 
the Lady Eunonia, which, if I do not err, she shall 
find in this letter. 

Hands her the letter. She refuses to take it. 

Berthalind. — She shall find it verily if thou dost take it to 
her. 

Giles. — Nor will she read it worse because thy fair fin- 
gers bear it. 

Berthalind. — (taking the letter) — Thus is it ever with us 
women — we refuse, and straightway consent for no 
better reason. 

Giles. — I dare not speak to our lady. 

Berthalind. — Dare not? why? where is saneness in this? 

Giles. — Nay, saneness is wanting, for Sir Lionel hath 
gone clean stark, staring mad! 

Berthalind. — Mad? thou art raving thyself! 

Giles. — An I be raving, for I do not contradict thee, see- 
ing I am sorely perturbed and unavoidably cum- 
puffled ; but an I be raving, O Heaven, preserve my 
master! 

Berthalind. — Thy master's man hath sorer need of pre- 
serving — in an iron cage, as a show of what un- 
checked foolishness may become. 

Giles. — Nay, sweet mistress, look not so on me, it blot- 
teth out thy former kindness, nor helpeth me to be 
calm. 

Berthalind. — Save the mark! what hath happened? Be 
rational an thou canst. 



193 

Giles. — I can not be as rational as I would, nor wouldst 
thou be as rational as I can, if the like had happened 
to thee. 

Bcrthalind. — Saints preserve us! hast thou seen a ghost? 

Giles. — Worse than all ghosts, Mistress Berthalind. 

Bcrthalind. — What hast thou seen? 

Giles. — I have seen Sir Lionel come to this resolve — that 
secretly and suddenly, even ere the morrow, and 
alone save for the companionship of your humble 
bondman he would, without word of warning to a 
single soul, depart from this castle to go seek his 
fortune in far lands, ay, even to England. More- 
over, he did put me on my bible-oath not to tell a 
living mortal, which oath I had certainly kept, an 
I had not met thee. Is not that madness? profane, 
unholy madness? 

Berthalind. — Dost thou know what madness is? 

Giles. — Do I know? do I know, sayst thou? Why, look, 
you, here sitteth Sir Lionel, there stand I. "Giles," 
saith he, in a miserable, melancholy voice, "Dost 
thou love me, Giles?" "Ay, truly," saith I, "I love 
your worship a deal better than I love myself, and 
would follow your worship the wide world over." 
This out of the abundance of my affectionate dis- 
position, for I was ever soft about the heart, Mis- 
tress Berthalind, and never dreaming for one mo- 
ment he would so disadvantageously and maraud- 
eringly take me at my word. " Then Giles," saith 
he, "canst thou keep a secret?" "A secret," saith 
I, "yea, that can I better even than a woman." 
"Then Giles," saith he, "I will tell thee one." And 
so he told me how he would steal away in the early 



194 

morning — he leaving a letter for my Lord Hugo — 
go into far lands — ay, even to England; do, God 
knows what prodigious deeds of valour, and come 
back, never perhaps, but famous knight and hench- 
man whenever we did appear. If this be not mad- 
ness, then am I a jackass indeed! 

Bcrthalind. — In that is little madness, unless sound sense 
and fine discretion be twin brothers thereto. 

Giles. — What? dost thou approve, Mistress Berthalind, — 
knowing well, that except in hard necessity, I have 
no stomach for fighting? 

Bcrthalind. — Thou hast a huge stomach for eating — let 
each man use his natural gifts; Sir Lionel will not 
leave thee much fighting, I warrant. 

Giles. — No soul of Adam may doubt my valour! 

Berthalind. — No soul of Adam knoweth the unknown; 
yet art thou valiant in thine own way — pot-valiant. 

Giles. — Dost thou flout me, Mistress Berthalind? thou 
mayst discern that 'tis the agony of leaving thee 
behind which so unmans me. 

Berthalind. — I may discern so much; yet it scarce need- 
eth mention, perchance, that to be unmanned, thou 
oughtest to have had manliness first of all. 

Giles. — Come, Mistress Berthalind, speak in kindliness 
to me; thou mayst never see me again. 

Berthalind. — Good fortune blesseth me not so easily! 
Sir Lionel is to be commended; for, look you, why 
should he languish here for a lady who, poor soul, 
must wed another! the world being wide, and other 
maidens as fair? 

Giles. — There are no two maidens fair as our Lady 
Eunonia and thyself, howsoever wide the world 
may be. 



195 

Berthalind. — Women are alike everywhere — most of 
them tolerable, some intolerable, with here and there 
a beauty. I would back the world against this 
old castle, and the world would win. 

Giles. — I am not so certain. 

Berthalind. — Why shouldst thou be? thou wert ever un- 
certain. 

Giles. — Yet in one thing have I been certain. 

Berthalind. — Prithee, what may that thing be? 

Giles. — That I loved thee. 

Berthalind. — Loved me? why shouldst thou not? I have 
never done thee harm! 

Giles. — Nay, in a less brotherly way than that, a deeper, 
a more enduring way, a marrying way in truth. 

Berthalind. — Giles, were we to marry, one of us would 
starve. 

Giles. — Thou shouldst never starve, Mistress Berthalind! 

Berthalind. — I should starve, I tell thee, for the lack of a 
reasonable human being with whom to converse; 
thou wouldst be so jealous, that never a man could 
be spoken to save thyself. 

Giles. — Well, Mistress Berthalind, I did hope to have 
met with kindness at thy hands, since this is a 
leave-taking. 

Berthalind. — So long as 'tis not taking without leave, I 
am happy. 

p^.—Why? 

Berthalind. — Thou mightest have taken a kiss, whereat 
I should have been most horribly affronted. 

Giles. — And am I not most mannerly, never attempting 
what I know thou wouldst not like? 

Berthalind. — How dost thou know, blockhead? 



196 

Giles.— Blockhead? blockhead? Ah! .. I take thee! If 
I meet as fair a lass, dost thou know what I will do? 
Berthalind. — Nay, I cannot even guess. 
Giles. — Kiss her! 

Kisses her. 

Berthalind. — Begone, Master Impudence! O Giles, I am 
sad thou art going. 

Giles. — Thou art not half so sad as I. 

Berthalind. — Yet stay not over long away, for Bernardo, 
the armourer, hath asked me, and 'tis like I may 
wed him if thou art too late. 

Giles. — Then will I make thee a widow, and marry Ber- 
nardo's wife. 

Footsteps within. 

Berthalind. — Hush, some one is coming! 
Giles. — Another kiss, if I die for it! 
Berthalind. — Farewell, Giles; farewell, simpleton! 
Giles. — Farewell, thou torturer! Sweetheart, farewell! 
well! 

Exeunt. 

Scene II. — Outside Count Hugo's Castle Wall, by the 
Ladies' Postern. A taper is seen burning high up in 
Eunonias apartment. 

Raymond discovered beneath, looking up at the lattice. 

Raymond. — Fair Saint, may heavenly guardians watch 
thy rest 
And bring thee dreams which breathe of Paradise. 
Oh, I will feed on hope, and glut desire 
With vain belief that ere the morrow come — 
When I perchance may see thee — cruel hours 



197 

Which intervene will flee as if my wish 
Were lord of Time, and could annihilate 
The separating ocean and make the morn! 
God! ere the morn can come, the tedious moon 
Must drag her weary way across the sky, 
And mock me with her glittering stare and seek 
To wrench my faith, that so I should conceive 
The honest sunbeams phantasy, and her light 
The only light which shineth. And as yet 
She hath not risen! Eunonia! Eunonia! 
That name for Raymond holds the Heaven of 

heavens. 
Yet, wonderful, 'twas but an empty word — 
A shadow — a fable — nothingness — a note 
Blown on the wind and never heard again, 
Three days ago! Three days ago! who's he 
Would measure days thus evenly? Are all 
Our days alike? Shall we take up the faggot 
Of Time and lop to a calendar'd length and bind? 
I have but lived three days! my former life 
Was but the chaos from which may come Creation — 
A petty mass of years, where not one hour 
Was ever raised above the vulgar round 
Of common duties; myself, some patient beast 
Born in a darkened pit, and groping pleased 
To touch the slimy sides, as deeming them 
The vast horizon of a limitless realm. 
But now, like the blended light of mated stars, 
My life shall shine in double splendour, full 
And calm, unthreatened by the touch of pain, 
The hand of malice, or the spite of chance. 
Superior, in an orbit circling high 
Above the experiences of meaner souls, 



198 

We two will grow together in love, and find 
In every change and season perfect joy. 

The chapel bell rings; some monks pass at the back 

of the stage to complines. 
Ha, who are they? Blind moles who burrow deep 
In church and monastery, and thrust away 
All that belongs to honest manliness. 

The moon rises. Enter Father Anselmo. 
Again that friar, and since the morning thrice 
I came upon him mumbling prayers, or rapt 
In contemplation; such a man enshrouds 
The bravery of the world in winding-sheets. 
Why doth he cross my path? 

Anselmo. — Benedicite, 

Fair son! Art thou a-thinking how that orb, 
Which rises through the vast, and ?11 the earth, 
Its pomp and circumstance, shall melt like wax 
Before the breath of Flim the Maker? 

Raymond. — No! 

Frankly, on my soul, good father, I had thought 
Of how most beauteous of most beauteous things 
Is the same mother Earth of ours. 

Anselmo. — Vanity! 

All is vanity! vain thy thought! is it not writ? 
And doth not Nature herself, responding, teach? 

Raymond. — We do not read the signs alike; no faith 
Have I that disbelief in all the beauty 
Of beauty is right or true. Shall I assume 
That He Who placeth bliss within mine arms 
Is working false, and saith, "Enjoy it not! 
What seemeth bliss is black, unending woe."?. 






i 9 9 

Are then my senses cheats? Their heaven-made 

use 
To judge that That which Is, is That which is Not? 

Ansclmo. — Then I as man to man may answer thee, 

That when my senses whisper, "These are good", 
Or 'These are lovely — these beyond compare'' 
Of aught existing on the sinful earth; 
My soul replies — and she is true as thine — 
"In this life is there nothing good, and when 
They seem the lovelier most to be abhorr'd." 

Raymond. — Thy pardon, father, if I should affront- 
But how canst thou in fairness judge of these 
Same sinful things? How art thou fit to be 
My monitor when all thy world is pent 
Within the walls of church or monastery; 
When life with thee is but the life of those 
Who, shrinking from high duty, selfishly 
Put by their manhood, and are content to gaze 
Through cloistral sanctuaries at the fight afar — 
Proud that though in the world they are not of it! 
Yet, should a wordling as myself come nigh, 
Judge what they know not to be 'vanity'! 

Ansclmo. — Dost thou remember Ralpho Gonsalamos? 

Raymond. — Ralpho Gonsalamos the Lombard? Well; 
He was the only man who ever crossed 
A lance with mine, and bore av/ay the meed — 
His country's noblest soldier! We shall meet, 
I have sworn it, we shall meet again, and then— 

Anselmo. — He will, one hand on thine as mine is now, 
Declare this life is naught but vanity, 
For I was once Ralpho Gonsalamos. 

Raymond. — Ralpho Gonsalamos? 

Atisdmo.>—(thr ozving back his cow/)— Mark well. 



200 

Raymond. — Great God! 

Anselmo. — Ralpho Gonsalamos is dead to all 

Which makes our being what it seems; he drained 
The cup of life to the dregs and found it — death. 
(Replaces cowl) 

Raymond. — Ralpho Gonsalamos ! 

Anselmo. — No longer so; 

Though weak humanity acknowledge kin 
If suddenly a face start from the Past — 
Long buried with the Springs of faded years — 
Father Anselmo knoweth not the man 
Save this, that who so dare avouch he cast 
Away the wordlings's life in sloth or fear, 
Lies to his Maker! Now, fair son, I go 
To complines in the chapel nigh. Wilt thou 
Join in our services of praise and prayer? 
Saved from the wrath of war by heavenly aid 
Well may the warrior thankfully adore. 

Raymond. — How sadly strange is such a place to me! 
Yet, reverend father, an thou'lt on before 
Soon will I follow. 

Anselmo. — We shall never meet 

In this vain world again. My yearly task 
Of portioning Count Hugo's dole among 
The brethren, for the last time is done. Ere morn, 
I journey where the archangel's awful fane 
Towers yonder o'er the troubled sea and guards 
The unworthy kingdom, and to them who seek 
Bestows that peace which passeth understanding. 
The Saviour guide thee! 
Exit Anselmo. 

Raymond. — Now the very ground 

May trembte under foot, and mountains high, 



201 

Whose roots hold fast the entrails of this globe, 

Supinely topple from their base — no sign 

Of wonder such events could wring 

From my impassive soul! All wonderment 

Hath vanished with that man! I cannot gape 

Did Satan open hell and show me here 

His mysteries infernal! Vanity — 

What's vanity? All things of love and joy? 

Or is it not the wild imaginings 

Of that disordered mind — struck hard perchance 

By some dread blow of Fate, and helped to further 

Unmanliness by fasting and lonely cell? 

Eunonia! thou thyself canst dissipate 

With cause resistless such a blasphemy, 

For thou art of the world, yet hast thou given 

More moments of pure bliss to my true soul 

Than I can dream are found in Paradise. 

Oh, that for ever I might clasp that form 

And view those features! What to me 

Is all beside? — a barren, bitter waste. 

I who have loved no woman ere this time 

Have younger grown to meet the fair occasion, 

And all the chemic forces of my blood 

Have backward pulsed to youth and eagerness. 

Thoughts which I hardly knew or had disdained, 

So blind was I, come thronging to my brain; 

The springtime is renewed! my supple frame 

Spurns now the lately-chilling bands of age, 

And passionate feelings tingle through my heart 

And make existence rapture. Eunonia! 

Enchantress by Love's might, this is thy work! 

Thy potent charm hath lifted me to light 

From utter darkness. Now I go that so 



202 

Mine unaccustomed tongue may join anew 
In worship of our Maker, blessing thee 
And bearing thy dear name to Heaven in prayer. 
Sweet, be thou nigh when I shall come again, 
And make the morning hasten through the skies! 

Exit Raymond. 

Monks' chant swells on the ear: — 
"Dona nobis pacem." 

Eunonia opens the lattice, takes a paper from her 

bosom, and reads 
Eunonia. — "When swells the holy psalm I shall be by, 
And if in honour thou wilt deign to meet me, 
Ope thou the ladies' postern." Nothing more. 
Alas! I wish that all his tender words 
Were writ in this dear scroll, for then could I 
In reading them a thousand thousand times, 
Pass quickly through the desert of my life 
And have the journey ended. O Lionel, 
Lionel! without thee I am neither maid, 
Nor wife, nor widow ! Three poor days ago 
How happy were we ! Then came hell, and now — 
I wish the moon were shining on my grave. 
A wretch foredoomed to living death, this joy 
May yet be mine — to see him once again! 
And though we meet to part for aye, 'twill be 
A lonely glimpse of heaven . . .The guards shall hear 
No step of mine, and, ere they me resolve 
Or ghost or mortal, the postern will be gained. 

She closes the lattice, leaves the light burning, and 

descends. 

Enter Lionel round a corner of the high wall, 

equipped for a journey, 



203 

Lionel. — Will she vouchsafe to meet me? There it burns, 
That vestal flame, her taper — holy light! 
Oft have I lingerd here and yearned, when storm 
And rain howled through the dark, that I were made 
A little bird to beat with fluttering wing 
Against her lattice — then had she ta'cn me in 
And pitied me and warmed me on her bosom! 
Will she not come again? Thou white-faced moon, 
Canst thou not print oblivion on my brain 
And make a dream of that which is too true? 
Oh, if thou couldst! Oh, if thou couldst! My lost, 
Lost love! ... Would we were standing man to 

man 
Here in the moonlight! by my life's ruin, I swear 
His soul or mine should face the dawn in Heaven! 
... .1 have grown old since I did see her! Old? 
The tottering grandsire of a hundred years 
Hath younger pulses than this heavy heart 
Can ever give me — withered ere my days 
Have known the bloom of manhood . . . Will she 

come 
And bless me? Will she come? or am I thrust 
From Paradise without one word or token 
To cheer the weary way which lies before? 
What if she hath not had my poor request? . . . 
Yet Giles affirmed 'twas rendered sure in hand . . . 
No shadow on the lattice . . . Not a sound 
Comes from her chamber to my straining ear! 
No more may I behold her, that is bliss 
Which but remains for some hereafter! . . . Hark! . . 
The postern seemed to tremble . . . God ! ... it 



moves 



204 

Eunonia opens the postern door and advances 
toward him. 
It opens! . . . Heaven be kind! . . . 'tis she! 'tis she.' 
Fate, I defy thee! Eunonia! 

Eunonia. — Lionel! 

Lionel. — Then thou hast dared — 

Eunonia. — I would dare all for thee. 

Lionel. — O impotence of Love, that lives like ours, 

Where two hearts beat as in one breast, should be 
Asunder riven! O impotence of Fate, 
That love like ours, though worlds between us rolled, 
Should be for ever changeless! 

Eunonia. — Why hath life 

Grown hideous? Have we earned the curse of God 

By loving one another? I am racked, 

Tormented as some wretch may be whose hands 

Have worked the vilest crime — whose venomed soul 

Served evil only! Is it then decreed, 

This poignant horror, this dread punishment? 

Is there a just Creator, if thou and I 

Are robbed of all the promise of our love 

And must walk separate through the pleasant ways? 

Lionel. — I knew not sorrow till thy father spake 

The fearful doom which banned me from my heaven; 

Yet this was joy to what of anguish tore 

My heart when thou wert clasped in Raymond's 

arms, 
That strangling sight! true mercy had struck me 
blind! 

Eunonia. — No fiend could dream of torture such as filled 
My shuddering body, while his loathly touch 



205 

Crept through the swoon and dragged me back to 
woe. 

too brief respite! would it had been death. 
Lionel. — Fain had I driven my dagger through his heart; 

What stayed the blow I know not, for my soul 
Was but a wasting fire of rage and terror — 
Remembrance now is agony! O God, 
Show Thou more kindness, or give Thou more 
strength ! 

Eunonia. — Love, what is left us? 

Lionel. — Hath thy father since 

That fatal morning spoke to thee of aught 
Touching thyself and this Lord Raymond? 

Eunonia. — No! 

1 have not seen my father; desolate, 

I kept my chamber, and good Berthalind 
To him excused me as might best avail. 
Alas! he deemed an ecstasy of bliss 
At sudden fortune had o'erborne my strength! 
And satisfied thus easily, next morn 
Went to Coutances with old Gerard. 
Lionel. — His mind 

Is open as the sunshine, and suffused 
With such a nobleness suspicion ne'er 
May gain a lodgment, else our love had been 
As known to him as 'tis to old Gerard, 
Who late besought me to forbear this place 
While unendowed with rank and martial fame. 
And I had told thy father of our love, 
Prayed him the rather to regard my suit 
As pleaded by De Toesni's heir, than him 
Who poor, unknown, hath on his bounty fed 
These many years; but mine unworthiness 



206 

Pressed on me sore and gagged my tongue, while 

Hope 
Would whisper, "Thou shalt yet be great — away! 
Thy deeds shall triumph over Time's disdain, 
And generations yet to come shall hear 
How well De Toesni won his lands anew — 
Then mayst thou ask nor fear refusal." Thou 
Wouldst wander near and Love would cry afraid, 
"Wilt leave thy dear one for the barren world 
Where ne'er a heart like hers may beat for thee, 
Where ne'er a face like hers may bless thy sight?" 
And thus I lingered wishing I were gone, 
Yet so Eunonia still might be mine own. 
He wins who dares; I dared not, and — I lost. 

Eunonia. — What, lost? O never, Lionel! I am thine, 
And only thine! Shall any hand profane 
The holy love which fills our hearts and made 
Life one long rapture; which will live and burn 
When all the stars above us wander dark 
In night eternal! May oblivion seize 
My senses if I ever yield a jot! 
Can fifty fathers as my Lionel be? 

Lionel. — O love, thy words fall glowing on the mine 
Of passion stifled here within; seek not 
To spring it, or, by Heaven, the high resolves 
Of royal duty will be blown to air! 

Eunonia. — What canst thou mean? 

Lionel. — Eunonia, when my heart 

Took courage and whisper'd what thou know'st too 

well, 
And got response of so divine a taste 
That happiness ran thrilling through my blood- 
Was it by look or motion shown? 



so; 

Eunonia.— Th X & c $ 

Beamed on me as an angel's; how I blest 
My Maker I could give such joy! 

Lionel— Such joy 

Was naught to that now mine, as thus thy voice 
Rendereth assurance of our lasting love! 
I am not worthy this immortal gift; 
Nor breathes she who could mate thy mind or 

beauty ! 
How I do love thee! Witness, Heaven and Earth, 
And strike me dumb, ye everlasting powers, 
If that my soul doth know a dearer bliss 
Than is Eunonia! Love for thee fills all, 
And makes me thine in everything I am! 

Eunonia. — I tremble while I worship! 

Lionel— Yet > this night— 

This night — my steed stands waiting. 

Eunonia.— What say'st thou? 

Uonel— How can I speak? it tears my vitals! ...I— 
I go . . . 

Eunonia.— Unsay those words! Thou shalt not go! 
Thou shalt not go and leave me loveless here! 
Lionel, thou shalt not go! thou shalt not go! 

Lionel — Eunonia ! 

Eunonia. — If thou goest I will go; 

And if thou dost not take me as thy peer, 
Afoot through all the wide world will I follow — 
Thy page, thy groom, thy handmaid. Shouldst 

thou spurn 
Thy servant, I will kiss thy feet content, 
So thou art near. 

Lionel God, she unmans me quite! 

Mine own, if then we met a poor old man 



20S 

With snowy beard and sorrow-wrinkled brow, 
Who cried, "My child! what hast thou done with 

her, 
Thou traitor to the ties of home and honour!" 
Could I look back into his eyes and say 
"I am no traitor! Well have I repaid 
Thy constant kindness and thy manly love. 
I have not wrecked thy life nor stol'n the gem 
Which decked the bleak remainder of thy days; 
But sacred held betrothal to thy friend, 
And left her in thine arms; not knave enough 
To make her love excuse for villainy."? 

Eunonia. — Alas! thou art too honest, or my heart 
Hath fatally misjudged thy love of me. 
I drift before the storm; hast thou no help? 
No comfort but the pitiless crown of thorns? 
I can not wear that crown; life is not life 
Apart from thee. 

Lionel. Eunonia, do not doubt me! 

Naught left but honour, if thou dost refuse 
To grant me this, then am I poor indeed. 

Eunonia. — Forgive me, love! despair had made me mad. 

Lionel. — Curst be the fortune that so tortures thee! 
If we had never met it would be well; 
But having met, and loved, and lost the right 
To make that love our own — we may lose love, 
Though that shall leave us bleeding, broken hearts; 
Yet never lose the spring of noble minds — 
Bright honour. 

Eunonia. — Thou art pleading Raymond's cause. 

Lionel. — Canst thou remember, when a little lad, 
I first beheld thy face? 

Eunonia. — Could I forget? 



2ocj 

Lionel. — Who freely found for me the sanctuary 
Which Nature makes the service of a parent? 
Whose hand hath held me up? Whose kindly arms 
Have folded to his breast? Whose generous gifts 
Have made a plenty of my barrenness, 
And broke the sting of poverty? Whose care 
Gave youthful cravings their desire, till e'en 
The hallowed memory of my loss grew dim? . . . 
Three days ago I had not named his name 
Without the glow of shame upon my cheek, 
For then, in bitter wrath, I swore to fly — 
If thou wouldst go — with thee from him and Ray- 
mond! 
Now can I answer — Hugo, Count St. Maur! 
Me, ingrate, with effaceness wrong requite him? 

Ennonia. — My blood is frozen, Lionel; to discern 
The path I yearn to tread is doubly barred — 

Lionel. — By Honour and by Duty. If I loved thee 
Ignobly, selfishly, unholily, 
How easy 'twere to find in Love a king 
Whose lightest inclination had been law; 
In basest perfidy a righteous deed; 
And lure affection, so the gentle bond 
Which binds a maiden to her sire were snapt! 

Eunonia. — I have learnt the cruel lesson. What is left 
For us, my Lionel? what is left? 

Lionel. — To part — 

To part — for ever. 

Eunonia. — Not to part! no, no! 

Lionel. — My darling, do not rob me of the frail 
Resolve which strives against my weakness. 
A horn is sounded. 

Hark! 



210 

The warder's horn! Thy father and Gerard 

Back from Coutances. I dare not keep thee here. 

here. 
I have left a letter for my lord; tell him 
I can no longer rust in these old walls, 
I must be gone. 

Eunonia. — O Lionel! I will kneel 

Before Lord Raymond and confess our love 
And pray his mercy; if he have a heart 
He shall restore us each to each. 

Lionel. — And break 

Thy father's knightly word? Forswear the oath 
Which thou though innocent didst take, and bring 
Black desolation on the waning years 
Of him, my benefactor? 

Eunonia. — O loyal soul 

That with unfaltering hand doth point the way! 
Now, out of my great love I say to thee, 
Go! and the smile of God be thy reward! 
Our love, sublimed above the love of earth, 
Is merged in victory of self, and thou 
Art he the hero martyr. 

Lionel. — Fare thee well! 

My loved, my lost one, fare thee well! I bless 
The Christ that I have followed Him in this, 
And most that thou has doubted not my love 
Undying as His own. Farewell! may He, 
Thy lowly Saviour, comfort thee! If, love, 
By yielding life I could remove one pang 
Which racks thy heart, how gladly were it given. 

They move back to the postern. 
Eunonia! when in years to come thy lord 



211 

Hath made thee happy, and the children's feet 
Go pattering by, and all is well with thee, 
Deign through the misty shadows of the Past 
To glance a moment; should a tear betray 
The memory of this hour, thou mayst without 
A blush give answer, "Child, I thought of one 
Who loved me better than his happiness." 
Eunonia.— Lionel, thou break'st my heart! 

She falls upon his breast. They stand thus in a 

close embrace. 

Enter Raymond. 
Raymond.- A boy again> 

I knelt before the altar of our Lord, 

The Maker of this firmament of fire. 

04d habits long lain by, yet once renewed, 

Bring near the days when they unquestioned reigned. 

My mother seemed beside me, and no doubt 

Arose to chill devotion. 
Eunonia.- t never loyed 

As I do now. 
Raymond Voices ? 

Eunonia.- A thousandfold, 

Through bitter parting, grows my love. 

The moonlight suffusing Lionel and Eunonia dis- 
covers them clearly to Raymond. 

Uonel - Farewell. 

Raymond.— Heavenly hosts! what see I? Eunonia held 

In Lionel's arms— lip pressed to lip! O burst 

Ye eyeballs that reveal such ravening shame! 

Blood! only blood can cleanse the foul disgrace! 

Yet stay, good sword— a soldier I— no murder! 

He dies— but in fair fight! 



212 

Lionel— < A last farewell. 

God keep thee darling! darling! 
Eunonia. — Oh, farewell! 

Still mine, still mine. 

Exit Eunonia through the postern. 
Lionel. — Now have I known the worst! 

Come spiteful fortune — evil — danger — death; 
Ye are to me but petty, insensate things! 
How vain your cruellest agonies to this 
Dark sacrament of love. 
Raymond. — (concealing his face in cloak) — Stand, sir, and 

draw! 
Lionel. — Who art thou? (draws his sword) 
Raymond. — Ask me not, but press thy blade 

To mine! Dost hesitate? Draw! or by Him 
Who made us both, I slay thee weaponless! 
Lionel. — Under her window! No. Sir, rest assured 
I am not seeking to avoid thee; pass 
With me along the wall where unobserved 
The business may be ended. This way: so. 

They go higher up the stage along the wall. 
Eunonia, much distressed, opens and appears at 
the lattice. 
Eunonia. — Oh Lionel! Lionel! It is too hard! too 
hard! 
Too hard! 

She closes the lattice and withdraws, sobbing. 
Lionel. — Now, sir, be ready! 

Lionel draws his sword. He and Raymond face 
each other on guard. 

Yet, withal ; 



2*3 

I crave the reason for this wild attack— 
What is thy name and rank? I know thee not. 
Raymond. — Then drag them from me, an thou canst! 
No more! 
Presumptuous boy, dost doubt I am thy peer? 
Lionel. — Nay, but in courtesy — 
Raymond. — Thou art no knight! 

Thou art a churl! 
Lionel. — Have at thee, then! 

They fight. In the eagerness of bitter combat 
they move down again, nearer front of stage. 
Raymond. — God's love! 

No churl — an iron wrist! 

Lionel. — An arm of steel! 

Lionel is wounded and falls. Raymond stoops 

over him. The cloak unwraps and shows his face. 

Lionel. — Raymond? Oh, misery! Strike again, and 

heal me! 

Sinks back insensible. 



ACT III. 

Scene I. — Room in Count Hugo's Castle. 
Gerard. 

Gerard. — An honest mystery offers to the mind 
Much good in seeking due unravelment; 
But this with which my brain now aches must be 
A most dishonest, deep, unsolvable, 
Unwholesome mystery as e'er threw spell 
Of glamour o'er a troubled soul. No thought, 
No will, no habit, cogitation, search, 



214 

Exploit, adventure, purpose, or attempt 
Makes plain the dim profundity, or tells 
How this sharp sickness of young Sir Lionel 
Began, nor what hath caused so dire effect. 
I grope, a blind man in a ditch, and, worse 
Than usual blindness, trip myself heels up, 
And plump into the mud with every move. 
Let me recall the weight of circumstance 
Which fashioned such a casket, yet witheld 
The key. That night my lord and I returned 
Late from Coutances, Lord Raymond bursts within 
My chamber just as I was well-composed 
To sleep, the heritage of all just men; 
He in a worry of distress entreats 
My services to find a leech, and hale 
The man of physic to his lodging quick 
As time may meet the need, and caps the freak 
By forcing on me half-awake an oath 
Most dread that never to a living soul 
The business shall be told. As hap would have, 
My lord and I nigh home had fallen in 
With old Bontaine, the town chirurgeon, who 
That instant snugly snored within the castle. 
I led Lord Raymond to him, and they passed 
Away before mine eyes, and left me mazed 
And doubtful whether 'twas a dream or no. 
Faith! many a dream hath far more life-like been — 
Yet that was never dream, but staring fact. 
And act, and motion. When I ask Bontaine, 
"How doth the patient?" he but shaketh head, 
While I may not go nigh my dear young master 
Though 'twas ten days ago, and the good Count 
Laments his friend hath need of surgery, 



2i5 

And vows 'tis but old-fashioned modishness 
For further dallying with his marriage-day. 
Strange how he missed not Lionel! My poor lad, 
I will endeavour to behold thee! Mine 
The duty thou canst claim beyond all else. 

Enter Hugo with a letter in his hand. 

Hugo. — Gerard, a knave hath lately given me this. 
Indeed, 'twas a good sennight since, methinks. 
I thrust it in my doublet at the time 
And straight forgot it; take thou it and read. 

Gerard. — (reads) — "To my loving and honoured Count 
Hugo de St. Maur. My honoured lord, — When 
thou hast beheld these lines I shall be gone, en- 
deavouring, since the times have grown so unwar- 
like, to atone in far countries for my present and 
past most miserable negligence, in serving mine 
own ease rather than the duty which lieth before 
every man. That this may be done the more readily, 
I have but taken one lackey, Giles Daubeny, with 
me, and refrained from those courteous and loving 
adieus to thee and thine, which thou hast all right 
to expect. In this, indeed, pray pardon me, and 
deign to receive the fullest acknowledgments my 
poor heart can give of all thy great and manifold 
kindness unto me. Give for me my blessing unto 
Gerard, mine old nurse and counsellor, who was 
ever with thee in this matter. That heaven may 
make me worthier thy love, and repay thee therefor 
is my constant prayer. 

Lionel De Toesni." 

Hugo.— In sooth, well writ and manly; he is mine 
Qwn son by all the lasting ties which bin4 



2l6 

Son to a father. Know thou this, Gerard, 
I have a fixed assurance that the boy 
Will win his name the old renown again. 

Gerard. — God grant it. Oh, 'twas a broken heart breath- 
ed through 
This letter! 

Hugo. — Thus our counsel ta'en at last, 

We yet shall all behold him honoured, rich, 
And envied by the great; and though so long 
He hath delayed, yet mightier fame shall make 
Ample amends for past obscurity. 

Gerard. — Mayst thou be proved a prophet, dear my lord ! 
I lack thy cheerful prescience — if my life's 
Best blood could give desire achievement, it 
Were rained this moment at thy feet. 

Hugo. — Gerard, 

In seeing thy devotion to his weal, 
I faintly prize the treasure found by me 
In thee, my faithful seneschal. Be sure 
'Twill be as I have pictured, and with years 
Let faith in this grow sturdier, and defy 
The sure progression of decaying age. 

Gerard. — My lord, thy favour lendeth present boldness — 
Let me retain his letter; 'tis a thing, 
Perhaps the only thing, will speak of him 
For many a day to these old eyes. 

Hugo. — 'Tis thine. 

Enter Bontaine. 
How now, physician! hast a good account 
Of our Lord Raymond? Doth he take the air? 
Bontaine. — His worship fareth well, yet for some days 
Will rest in his apartment, and doth crave, 



217 

My lord, thy pardon for the seeming slight 
In asking, as before, that he be left 
Unvisited by any in the house. 
He trusteth thy affection will discern 
Herein no slur on hospitality. 

Hugo. — Dear Raymond! be recovery served therein, 
Could tenfold caution parley with affront? 
Bontaine, is it not most notable that he 
So younger far than I should feel the claw 
Of withering Time — as thus meseemeth — while 
Untouched, but rarely, still my step is firm, 
My brain is clear, my frame no ailment weakens? 

Gerard. — (aside) — How doth a morning-posset thaw the 
frost! 

Bontaine. — A man is simply what he makes himself. 
Great Nature heeds his work and bears result 
Accordingly. Thus they whose primal heat 
Hath dint to overcome where weaker flesh 
Sink 'neath the weight and stumble, may withal 
So turn from temperate action that when years 
Grow many, like strong castles undermined, 
They topple piteous ruins. Whereas they 
Whose sinews are as threads, whose very strength 
Is weakness manifest, by wiser care 
Maintain such due proportion of their powers 
That Age is only Youth grown old. They know 
True health who, having natural strength, yet build 
Thereto as jealous husbandmen, nor are 
Forever prodigal. 

Hugo. — My case, Bontaine; 

What might my youth had gained my manhood 

kept. 
Why, when I left the field this good right hand 



2l8 

Was vigorous as the day when first it grasped 
A lance, and is yet so. Nay, I will test 
The truth thereof! Gerard, go fetch my lance 
Which standeth in the pictured gallery, 
And ye shall see what pith mine arms retain. 

Gerard. — That treen staff? that weaver's beam? Why, 
zounds ! 
The great archangel need be nigh to stay 
Thy body perpendicular! 

Hugo. — Away ! — 

Wouldst measure by thyself a man like me? 
Go fetch it, sirrah! 

Gerard. — (aside). An he wield that lance 

With back unbroken, Time doth me grievous 
wrong ! 

Exit Gerard. 

Hugo. — Thou seest what a stubborn knave that same 
White-bearded seneschal can be! 'Tis trash, 
Long while he deemeth me a grandfather, 
Disabled and unfit for use. Gadzooks! 
But I will show him what a knight may do 
Though threescore years have tumbled on his back! 

Bontaine. — (aside) — As thou wilt tumble on thine own! 
(To Hugo) My lord, 

Some men grope through the daylight as 'twere 

dark; 
They see their fancies only — custom blinds 
Perception as to real attributes 
Of others; if these answer not the shape 
Forced on distorted vision, straight "transformed 
To fit the die — beauty is ugliness, 
Youth middle-age, ambition self-conceit, 
Virtue pollution, courage cowardice. 



219 

Hugo. — 'Fore God thou hast a proper apprehension! 
How blind Gerard doth grow. Ha, here he com- 
eth! 

Enter Gerard, dragging the lance behind him. 

Now for the trial. 
Gerard. — Have a care, my lord! 

I do protest 'tis tempting Providence 

For thee to raise so weighty a spar. It fell 

When first unfastened, nearly cracking this 

My thick but only brainpan. 
Hugo. — Give it here. 

Gerard. — Help thou, Bontaine, 'tis only fit to mast 

Some stout boat on the ocean. 
Hugo. — Ha, the bur 

Is loose. 
Gerard. — Up, Bontaine! 
Bontaine. — Saints! 'tis no lady's pin! 

They raise it and keep it in position. 
Hugo. — So! to me — now — on rest — again I see 

Stout fellows falling 'neath my stroke ! Leave hold, 
Ye twain while I will run a glorious charge. 

They leave hold. The point of the lance descends. 
Hugo, clutching desperately, is dragged down, the 
lance falling on the floor. 

Gerard. — Heaven grant he be not hurt! 

Bontaine.— A dangerous game! 

Hugo. — Wilt thou not help me to arise, thou knave! 
Dar'st laugh because I stumbled? 'twas the bur— 
The bur, I tell thee; let me to't again. 

Gerard.— Nay, that thou shalt not. 

Uiigo'.<-~~> Sooth, I sweat a deal— 



"<V 



220 

Ye see how 'twas — I grasping thus on rest, 

My ringers by the loosened bur were spread 

And lost their proper grip. Coughing. 
Bontaine. — No man may hold 

A loose-burred lance, though many try to do it. 
Gerard. — My lord, thou art a-tremble! 
Hugo. — Tush! 'tis naught. 

Gerard. — The fall hath shaken thee. 
Hugo.— May I not fall 

If it should please me? May I not use my limbs? 
Gerard. — I do beseech thee, dear my lord, to lean 

On this my faithful arm. 
Bontaine. — Indeed, my lord, 

They who disdain support may come to harm; 

Mayhap thou hast strained thy pericardium. 
Hugo. — Am I a woman? hath not my good right hand 

Sufficient strength to grasp a thousand such! 

I need support? I can support ye both! 

It was the bur, I tell ye, and the fall 

Is naught! 
Gerard. — I should not relish such a fall. 

Bontaine. — Some falls are hurtful — some may well be held 

As harmless. 
Hugo. — (aside) — An Saint Michael himself had said 

That this could ever be, 1 had told him he lied! 

'S death! quite winded! they shall not know! 

(to Bontaine) Bontaine, 

My love and duty to Lord Raymond; give 

Him token of my constant prayers that he 

May from the insidious foe be quickly freed. 

Some weighty business calls me hence; I leave 

Ye two old cacklers out of my mishap 

To hatch what eggs ye may. 



221 

Gerard. — Nay, I protest, 

My service shall not blab. 

Bontainc. — Here am I dumb. 

Gerard. — Farewell, my lord. 

Bontainc. — God keep thee, noble Count. 

Exit Hugo. 

Gerard. — Now, Sir Physician, give thy tongue a use, 
And ease my longing heart; how doth my dear 
Sir Lionel? is this mystic sickness eased? 
Hath he recovered? is he nigh to death? 
What! still oracular? I will endure 
No longer. 

Bontainc. — I have told thee thrice before, 

Lord Raymond hath by oath most terrible 
Chained every motion of an answering tongue. 

Gerard. — Oaths! what are oaths in such a case as this? 
My lord believes him far afield endowed 
With all that lusty youth may claim; while I — 
A traitor to my lord whose bread I eat — 
His honest, simple soul, scarce could suspect 
A foe of treachery — I and thou both know 
Sir Lionel smitten mysteriously lieth here 
Held in the clutch of Raymond. That bold man, 
May be for purposes most devilish, keeps 
But fellowship with my poor lad, and shuns 
The open day of heaven which will not hide 
Dark deeds and guilty projects. I have sworn 
An oath as good as any gentleman's, 
But now, methinks, 'twere better broken than kept. 

Bontainc. — Some men are callous to a brother's woe, 
While some themselves do feel a stranger's pang; 
Thy pleading eyes nigh bid me disregard 
My vow to Raymond, 



222 

Gerard. — Surely without fear 

Of man or friar thou mayst assuage my thirst 
With some scant knowledge. 

Bontaine. — I will tell thee this, 

That one we wot of is so tossed upon 
A tempest of delirium, though near healed 
In body, whether yet the mind will e'er 
Return to calmer reason, He alone 
Who made that mind may know. 

Gerard. — Be merciful! 

Bontaine. — Thy thoughts of Raymond are unworthy theel 
A patient nurse he sits beside the bed; 
Come night, come morning, thou wouldst find him 

there. 
A mother's hand ne'er dealt with tenderer touch, 
A father's love was never richlier kind. 
Rest assured that young De Toesni's weal 
Is in such keeping safer than in thine. 

Gerard. — Right glad am I to hear thee; thy rebuke 
Is welcome music, good Bontaine. 

Bontaine. — Some men 

Pass cleanly through a sickness nor contract 
More dangerous ills, while others clear the storm 
But to be shattered on a rock-bound coast. 

Gerard. — Lord Raymond leaves him not thou say est? 

Bontaine. — Save when 

The night hath fallen, for a little space 
Wherein to breathe the air. 

Gerard. — Heaven bless him for it! 

Bontaine. — Gerard, time fleeteth; to such a perilous pinch 
Hath this misfortune grown, no remedy 
Remains for skill chirurgical. Beyond 
My art or knowledge there are powers which move 



22$ 

The weakened nerves of memory. If our hope 
Belie us not, he may be still assured 
To manhood sound in body and mind. 

Gerard.— I grasp 

No meaning in thy speech. 

Bontaine. — Then quickly guide 

Where Lady Eunonia may in private hear 
The message which I bear, for she is now 
The pivot whereon our expectations turn; 
And while we seek her thou shalt comprehend 
The meaning of my words. 

Gerard. — Then follow me. 

Exeunt. 

Scene II. — Interior of Raymond's apartment in Count 
Hugo's castle. Lionel lying on a couch', disordered 
dress, emaciated, and having the appearance of an 
invalid. Raymond watching over him; much altered; 
haggard and worn. Lamps burning. Heavy arras 
across the back of scene. 

Raymond. — Quiet at last, poor lad; the leech doth well 
To use Gerard as messenger, or she 
Had known his features, and my desperate plan 
Failed consummation. Can I gauge their love? 
Is there a need? Wild hopes and folly strain 
My mind to such an action, while within 
I feel and own the worst, yet strive to change it. 
Mad? who so mad as I? for I would seek 
To find uncertainty in certitude, 
And shake the stars a-jingle in mine hand! 

Lionel. — Shine on! forsooth, my lady loves thy light — 
Not on a Thursday — look you, it were vile 
To bind the dripping rainbow with a string! 



224 

Yet to distil sweet nectar from the moon 

For sharpening sword-blades were a gallant task. 

Raymond. — Hush! thou wilt wake thy lady! 

Lionel. — Seest thou not 

That grisly form which steals athwart the glade? 
Ha! he will rend me from my love! help! help! 

Raymond. — Fear not! so — I have slain thine enemy. 

Lionel. — What, think you, will he come again? 

Raymond. — But now 

I passed my rapier through his corse — no, no; 
He may not more withstand thee. 

Lionel. — I am content. He rests. 

Raymond. — Out of his mutterings oftentimes evolve 
Ideas in seeming sequence, yet withal 
Whene'er I try to gather up the threads 
'Tis but a tangle. 

Lionel. — On the higher bough! 

Raymond. — What had been best — a living death in life, 
Or sudden end to being? If I may judge, 
Our life is not so precious that to strip 
A soul of earthly garments, howsoe'er 
Unlawful, deals that soul most ill; but this — 
This shattered reason, this unknowing mind, 
This flawed machine a touch would make divine, 
This entitled non-entity, this ruin 
Of Nature's perfect work — he who brings this 
Hath cheated life and death alike. 

Lionel. — Her rose! 

Eunonia's rose! ha! wouldst thou pluck it from me? 

Raymond. — That name! that name! 

Lionel.— Why doth it wither now? 

Raymond. — Art sure it withers? 



225 

Lionel. — An the sheen 

Were bright as then, could I not climb thereon 

And get me into heaven? No, no! he comes — 

That dreadful form! 
Raymond. — There, see, he lieth slain. 

Lionel. — Yea; but the moonlight scorcheth out mine. eyes! 

Yet bury me where the oak-tree wooed that rose, 

So I may sail on every wind to her. 

By the archangel, I will go with Giles! 

See to't! have ready hog-backed Joan for me! 

Some fairy-queen hath o'er the petals blusht! 

No, no, Bernardo — 'twas a thrust in tierce. 

Wilt thou not save me from the fiend? 
Raymond. — Take firm 

Assurance that the fiend is dead! That rose, 

Which with incessant plaint he grieves mine ear, 

What may it be? Was it some perished token? 
Lionel. — In sooth, dear lord, I am too poor methinks 

For such a high estate. Nay, said I not 

That if 'twere trampled on 'twould live the same? 

But yesterday it held the morning dew. 
Raymond. — Come, rest thee on thy couch, thou art 

aweary. 
Lionel. — What? when the trumpet sounds a charge? the 
word 

Thou hast, so keep good watch, brave sentinel! 
Raymond. — I will keep watch while thou dost slumber. 
Lionel. — Yea? 

But lightly tread else thou wilt crush the rose. 
Raymond. — Again that rose! 
Lionel. — Hear'st thou? 

Raymond. — Nay, fear me not! 

Lionel. — Then if he come there is no quarter? 



226 

Raymond. — None. 

I am prepared, so thou wilt take thy rest. 
Lionel. — To-morrow we may meet. 

Sinks back and rests. 
Raymond. — Peace, wandering soul! 

Peace, not as the world giveth, be given to thee. 
He rests again. His father was my friend 
Till the sad times arose; and I have thus 
Requited friendship — as a demon might! 
By Heaven, a noble lad! De Toesni's own. 
In every limb the old heroic strain! 
I have not dared to face the honest day 
Since that curst hour. Is every atom crammed 
With palpitating life? each tiny grain 
A world built up of myriad organisms? 
And that we reckon solid rock or tree 
Formed in their very essence of living things, 
Whose multitudinous frames invisible are 
Through infinite minuteness? Is the air 
Which wraps my body here and melts away 
To space ethereal, wombing universe 
On universe, and filling height and depth 
And unimaginable immensity, 
An instrument so delicately wrought 
Harmonious, penetrating, sensitive, 
That through its tell-tale vastness is conveyed 
Each thought, desire, emotion, passion, act 
Conceived, begot, felt, borne, or done by man? 
This all must be, and Cain and I have known 
Creation watching with her myriad eyes, 
As only wretches know who stoop to evil! 
Strange aspects crown the solemn arch of heaven, 
Mysterious whispers load the trembling wind, 



22J 

Familiar tokens of the smiling world 
Drip blood, a dreadful Presence ever by 
Insistent asks, "Where, murderer, is thy brother?" 
God! hath Eunonia my offence divined? 
For having traced my customary way 
Unto her lattice yestereve, when she 
Most unaware did ope the bars and leaned 
Toward the glowing vesper-star and sighed, 
Though hid in gloom I dared not meet her eyes' 
Reproachful glory; and when I turned, 
Feeling her gaze withdrawn, as if my glance 
Shot venom in't and pricked her gentle heart, 
She shuddered, went, and night was desolate! 
What subtile intuitions guided then 
Her dreaming mind? Did the same influences 
So wrench the infuriate purpose of my blood 
That by these guilty arms was Lionel snatched 
From the dread doom their cruel might had won? 
Unkindly ministers, why held ye not 
My senses dulled in bondage, when with fond 
Paternal ignorance did Hugo draw 
My war-drows'd vision to Eunonia — claim 
The due fulfilment of a light-lipt oath, 
Ta'en but to lull a friend's anxieties 
For what might hap hereafter? Heavenly grace! 
My brain is swimming in a sea of fire 
As point by point each circumstance unrolls 
Before unread, unseen, unapprehended! 
Their love! Oh, Raymond, thou art school'd in- 
deed, 
That thus with voluble tongue thou durst express 
What seemed impossibly monstrous — undesigned 
By all coincidence of natural things! 



228 

Fool! was she not nigh him every day? Could he 
Do aught but love her? though, by the breath of 

God, 
I swear his love to mine is as the frail 
Cry of a child to manhood's lusty shout, 
As a meteor's vanishing trail to noon's 
Full splendour, as the starved imaginings 
Of what may-be to those eternal deeds 
Which crown the fruited promise of what Is! 
He love as I? Were he a thousand-souled, 
My love would still outreach his added powers 
And live diviner on that height where Self 
Is "blent and lost in others. 

Lionel moves uneasily and struggles. 

Lionel. — Thou hast lied! 

Thou art the Evil One — the deadly Fiend: 
I know thee Satan! 

Raymond. — Knowest thou, poor boy, 

That thou art he who barrest out my heaven? 
Tush! I speak folly to a madman. 

Lionel. — Wretch! 

I know thee by the strangeness of thy face 
And brutal speech wherein thou gabbiest — 
Avaunt! I will be gay though she be gone! 
Alas, alas! they tore me from my love! 

Raymond, — O God, may I hear this and live? For he 
Distraught, enfeebled, lying there forlorn 
Is happier so beloved than I who own 
All that men count the chiefest joys of life! 

Lionel. — Damnation to thy soul! thy shadow fell 
Between the sun and me, and dasht the dark 
About my happy fortune. 



229 

Raymond.- Happy fortund 

Such words are sadly consonant with the past. 
Can he be mending? Woe to the lover then 
Yet to the evil-doer salvation! 

Lioncl '~ Wretch! 

Wilt thou begone? She shall be never bound 

In the deep pits where thou dost reign! 
Raymond.— " No more _ 

He is thy friend who watcheth, yea, thy friend. 
Lionel.— Art thou not lord of that infernal throng 

Who crowd around and jeer and thrust their nails 

Far in the yielding marrow of my brain? 

Look! they feed on't! 
Raymond— > S death! he is mad indeed. 

Lionel.— Quit sight or I will slay thee! Leave the world! 

Resume thy sway where furies gird the house! 

Begone! 
Raymond.— Nay, be appeased, I am thy friend. 
Lionel— Dost tarry, vulture? I will cut thy heart 

Out the black pouch wherein it flouts at God! 

Rises, and seising Raymond, struggles violently 
with him, endeavouring to snatch the dagger out of 
his belt. 

Raymond.— Have mercy, Jesu! he will tear his wound 

Agape ! 
Lionel.— Give way, devil! give way, Beelzebub! 
Raymond. — No, no; thou hast it not! 
Lionel— By Heaven, I will! 

Raymond. — A three-fold strength possesseth him! 
Lionel— Back, fiend! 

Raymond.— This runs to danger! thou wilt rend apart 



230 

The leech's bandage — Ho! Bontaine! Bontaine! 

The potion — quick! 
Lionel. — He shall not help thee! 

Raymond. — Hold ! 

Back to thy couch — Bontaine! why comes he not? 

Quick! bring the potion for this madman! quick, 

Bontaine! 
Lionel. — Beast! art thou victor? 

Sinking back exhausted. 

Enter Bontaine, phial in hand. 

Raymond. — Victor? so — 

Be comforted and rest. (To Bontaine) Administer 
The soothing potion: he is much inflamed 
By burning fantasies — with passionate strength 
Hath struggled in my grasp, and barely missed 
To stab me with this dagger. 

Bontaine. — Hold his hands, 

An't please you, my good lord, then I may do't. 

Administers the draught. 

'Tis a most potent medicine — 'twill enforce 

A quiet flowing on unruly blood, 

And all the finer sensibilities 

Thus be prepared to feel the lightest touch 

Which may awaken memory and resume 

Dominion o'er the mind. See, he is eased. 

Raymond. — Thou art assured, physician, of this thing? 

Bontaine. — My lord, you gave the clew. 

Raymond. — Oh, ay, 'twas that — 

Thou, too, hast known 

Bontaine. — Their love, my lord? 

Raymond. — Their love. 



23 1 

Bontaine. — Why all the gossips hereabout have wagged 
Impetuous tongues, and shaken heads, and nudged 
Each other as these two would pass them by — 
So saith Gerard. Some people do observe 
Youth's fond vagaries; I myself did ne'er 
Behold my lady and Sir Lionel here 
In such like fellowship. 

Raymond. — No? 

Bontaine. — No, my lord. 

Raymond, — (aside) — That "no" streams honied poison 
through my veins — 
Or was he blind as Hugo? 

Bontaine. — But, my lord, 

Time speedeth; will it please you go within 
The chamber next — there have I placed the robes 
Which mock this poor attire. 

Raymond. — True. Thou hast ne'er 

Viewed them as lovers? Spare the answer — take 
Sure watch while I am gone. 

Exit Raymond. 

Bontaine. — Fear not, my lord. 

They will be present ere he can return, 
For, by the horologe, the appointed hour 
Is nearer than my count. A man indeed! 
His is no fallen nature. An it be 
Attempered to the tune of human ill, 
Good ever showeth front and vanquisheth 
The evil far more easily obeyed. 
If I may read the signs aright, this lad 
Hath fitter fields of action in the heavens, 
For, on our harder earth, who needeth him? 
Lord Raymond, old Sir Hugo, or myself? 



2Z2 

Lady Eunonia surely hath not poised 

Her fate on such a moon-bred gillyflower — 

Though women use less reason than my nag, 

Who ne'er mistaketh emptiness for corn. 

More is than seems — Lord Raymond babbleth not, 

And why he saved the youngling from a death 

So happily contrived; why thrust on me 

A dreadful oath of secrecy; and why 

His days are spent a-nursing — these are "whys" 

Whereunto I find no "because." In sooth, 

I am become a mystery to myself, 

Knowing too much, yet knowing not much more. 

Can there be virtue in the coming trial? 

Was the scheme mine? or hath it, cuckoo-like, 

Been hatched within the nest Lord Raymond's hints 

Sufficed to build? The morn may bring reply, 

To-day is dumb. 

Gerard. — (within) Dear lady, 'tis the chamber. 

Bontaine. — Here? and my lord returned not? 

Eunonia, — (within)- Stay, Gerard — 

Delay a moment — I am faint — 'tis naught. 
O Jesu! guide me now! 

Enter Eunonia and Gerard. Bontaine partly 
conceals his face. 

Gerard, — Bontaine, my lady 

Thus to my wild entreaties doth respond. 

Eunonia, — Is the tale true? a matter of life or death? 
Where is Sir Lionel? quick! deny me not! 

Bontaine. — (discovering Lionel) — Most noble lady, this is 
he. 

Gerard, — He lives! 

My poor young master! Heaven be praised! 



*33 

Bontaine. — TT . . , 

,,, . His mind 

Wavers a wind-blown flame which finds no hold; 
To all my art immedicable. 

Eunonia, — T . ,, 

r> , • r™ Lionel! 

Bontame.-The draught hath gained a respite-slender 
boon, 

Yet utmost issue of my deepest knowledge. 

A touch, a tone, a look, the smell of flowers, 

The vision of a face— I know not what— 

May lead perchance his wandering spirit back 

Here skill is useless! In the lonely hope 

That one, his playfellow, might possess such fine 

Affinity of soul as would unlock 

The prisoned spark of reason, have we dared 

Entreat thy presence, lady. 

Gerard. — tj- 

_ Heaven give aid. 

Bontaine.— (to Gerard)-See how she broodeth o'er him, 
as a bird 
Whose mate is lost regards the empty nest. 
Watch— if my lord delay— lest sudden fit 
Of violence threaten peril. I must go. 
Exit Bontaine. 
Eunonia.— Gerard, he knows me not! what doth it mean? 
Gerard.— His eyes are closed, my lady. 

Eunonia. — -n , , , 

But before, 
Had I thus bended o'er him as he slumbered 
• He would have smiled and wakened. 

Gerard. — >-r- , 

lis no sleep, 
But Nature drugged to feign. 

Eunonia. — c\u • •*. i 3 

Oh, is it he? 

Do not my senses cheat me? Did we part 
To meet in such a fashion? Speak, Gerard; 
Say all is false— that I am stumbling through 



234 

A land of dreams and this most woful sight 

Is but one dream the more! 
Gerard. — Would God it were! 

Eunonia. — How came it so? what was the cause? who 
dealt 

The blow? and in my kindly father's house! 

Shame on the deed! may joy forsake the doer! 

Enter Raymond, disguised to represent Bon- 
taine. 

Gerard. — Hush, madam, my old heart is sore. I pray 
You now for his bruis'd sake there, quench these 

vain 
Demandings. 

Eunonia. — Vain? but I will know, Gerard! 

Raymond. — (aside) — All beauty in one face! I cannot 
yield her! 

Gerard. — And wherefore, my sweet mistress? here hath 
worked 
A deed whose consequence alone thou seest — 
Save greater depth of mystery, of the cause 
Thou art informed as I. 

Raymond. — (aside) — My heart-strings crack! 

See how she bows above him! happy Lionel! 

Eunonia. — Canst thou do naught, physician, for this man? 

Raymond. — Naught, lady! naught! 

Eunonia. — Oh, brand him, Heaven, a slave! 

A creeping slave — a paltry hypocrite 
Whose bread is gained by false pretence of healing! 
What use thy science and the dusty lore 
Which thou hast gathered, as a cur drags mire, 
Throughout thy loathsome life? Am I too harsh? 
Then be thou deaf — my words shall scorch thee else! 



235 
Raymond.— (aside)— Deaf to her voice? Oh, what were 

Raymond then! 
Eunonia. — He who lies there, beyond all hope of cure, 
Is he who gave a glory to my life, 
Which like some rose-hued sunset never may 
Be seen again. Can I be callous now? 
Or view unmoved the dear one whom I love 
Strained in the wild embrace of madness? 
Raymond. — Hold. 

In mercy hold. I have grown faint with watching! 
Eunonia.— Through the dread winter of my coming years 
A cruel Fate yet left one solace, this — 
Though bound to that grim soldier whom I hate, 
I could have loosed the chain in spirit and turned 
And followed Lionel through the world, and gleaned 
Haply some whisper how his fame grew bright 
And noble as himself— forgetting thus 
The wretched woman once a joyous maid. 
Thou hast denied me. Oh, be not afeard! 
I have no power to blast thee as I would. 

Raymond.— (aside)— My God, this torture is intolerable! 

Gerard.— Remember, dear my lady, that the leech 

Saith by some touch or token thou mightst tune 
This living discord to a perfect tone. 

Eunonia, — I did not hear. 

Gerard. I s it: not so > Bontaine? 

Raymond. — In very truth. 

Eunonia.— Physician, on my soul, 

Thy skill, thy knowledge, thy experience 
Are vile impostures, base, unable things- 
Useless and best forgotten! 

Raymond.—' Lady I 



236 

Eunonia. — What, darest thou answer? Look on him 
and boast! 
A wrecked, a ruined life! O Jesu! see 
The sunken cheek, the pallid brow, the hand 
Clammy as death! All health, all manhood can- 

ker'd! 
Tears fill thine eyes, Gerard, and I have none! 
Thou lovest him, old friend, yet were thy love 
Sublimed and multiplied to heavenly proof, 
Still never couldst thou love him as I love! 
Yea, though Lord Raymond hold me as his wife, 
My love with Lionel will live buried. 

Raymond. — Ah! 

Eunonia. — Despite our love we parted, that the pledge 
My father gave might honourably be kept; 
And we did never think to meet again, 
But go our separate ways and work our work, 
God help us! as we might — and this is all! 

Raymond. — (aside) — Pity me Heaven! her words are 
whips of stings! 

Lionel moves uneasily. 

Gerard. — He moves, my lady, look you! be prepared. 
Raymond. — (aside) — Oh, she would drag my soul from 
Satan's grip! 

He will recover. 
Gerard. — (to Raymond) — Be controlled, my lord. 
Eunonia. — Lionel! Lionel! Lionel! my only love! 
Raymond. — My God! that cry would wake the dead! 
Lionel. — (rising suddenly) — She calls! 

I hear her voice! 

Sinks back exhausted. 



237 

Eunonia.— He spoke! he knew me not! 

Gerard. — He knew thy voice ; he looked not on thee then. 

Eunonia. — How frail and weary! Now be brave! 

Lionel! 
Raymond. — Would I were he. 
Eunonia.— Lionel! my love, arise! 

And be mine own once more. Christ pardon me! 
Lionel.— (regarding her and gradually recognising her). 

Where art thou calling through the mist? I hear! 

And feel the light is breaking overhead. 

I hear, and beat them off, and struggle on 

To thee, to thee! Oh, kiss me as of old! 
Eunonia. — Love, I am nigh! Love, I am bending o'er 
thee now! 

Thus with a kiss I draw thee from the dark! 

Come back to earth, to life, to me! 
Lionel— Eunonia! 

Eunonia. — Mine own! 
Raymond.— He is saved! 

Gerard.— (kneeling)— Almighty Father, Thou 

Hast heard my prayer. 
Lionel. — Love, thou hast lifted me 

From hell to heaven! 
Raymond.— And I have fallen from heaven 

To hell! 

ACT IV. 

Scene I. — Room in Count Hugo's Castle. 

Drogo. 

Drogo.— Faith, I have lost the tally of events here by cap- 
taining the men-at-arms back to Ver, and am there- 
fore somewhat in the dark, Therein I but obeyed 



238 

my lord's commands, while he crost country to greet 
his old comrade, Count Hugo, after so long an ab- 
sence, with expressed intention to rejoin us quickly. 
Then came the puzzle — for when I did expect to see 
him, a messenger appeareth, bearing his strait sum- 
mons that, bringing the notary, the castle-keys, and 
certain parchments, I should betake myself with all 
speed to this camp of the feminine enemy. On ar- 
rival, my lord's greeting was after the same old kind- 
ly fashion ; but to the notary he hath been as a twin- 
brother, and surrereth him rarely out of his sight; 
I being left at the mercy of these Jezebels until now, 
when he biddeth me have ready his charger secretly 
bestowed and afterward gain the Lady Eunonia to 
meet him presently in the pictured gallery. All this, 
moreover, in a mysterious and hesitating fashion, 
which accordeth not with his former heartiness of 
speech, and violently moved as I knew by his tell- 
tale eyes. Did he want me for this? Why hath 
he been so constantly closeted with the notary? For 
marriage settlements, and thereby the detestable un- 
doing of his fortune. My lord is noble, generous, 
brave, wise, and kind! a gentleman of whom the 
Almighty may be proud; why then should he do so 
foolishly? Nay, nay, it cannot be! Yet why see 
her in the pictured gallery? For an open answer 
to the riddle I will wait in a private spot whereby he 
must pass in going thither, and humbly crave some 
knowledge of his purposes. He may refuse; but 
I will follow him, while one foot can swing before 
the other, to the uttermost ends of the earth. His 
charger stands ready — ay, and so likewise is mine 
own old piece of tough horseflesh, Whither the 



239 

Lord Raymond shall venture, thither may Drogo, 
He saved my life when the Spaniard's blade was at 
my throat, but to so large a heart that maketh no 
obligation, and is a bare service which, he sayeth, 
my poor doings have long since overpaid. A kingly 
mind that holds heroic deeds a simple duty! Shall 
I, then, fancy such a man as married and undone; 
feeding the multifold fancies of a varying woman; 
meekly obeying when she crieth, "My lord, the babe 
lacks sport, go, dandle him awhile!" and become, 
in place of a full, fame-trumpeted nobility, but the 
shadow of an exacting wife? Monstrous! impossi- 
ble! Yet if certainty may be had, certainty shall be 
got Meanwhile mine errand waiteth. Ha! hither 
ambleth the mincing tirewoman; she can speed me 
to her mistress. 

Enter Berthalind. 

God help us; I would as lief spit on as speak to her. 
Berthalind.-(aside)-That surly clown. Where is Ber- 

nardo? 
Drogo —Good day, Mistress Berthalind. Can you direct 
me to the Lady Eunonia? I bear a message from 

my lord. 

Berthalind.— God save you, Master Drogo, she may hard- 
ly see the messenger. 

Drogo.— Wherefore ? 

Berthalind.- In truth, my mistress is in no mood to re- 
ceive that she likes not. 

Dr oxo.She is not asked to like or dislike; but merely 
hear a compliment which, perchance, the Lord Ray- 
mond deigneth to bestow. 



MO 

Berthalind. — His compliments will fall flat; for this 1 
say, that though, poor soul, she may marry him, 
yet can she never love him. 

Drogo. — Poor soul? nay! Heaven forefend it! 

Berthalind. — Go thy ways, Master Ignorance! I had 
forgot thou wert new here, and blind of the matter. 

Drogo. — Well, Mistress Impudence, an 'tis of marriage 
thou speakest, though strange to the place I have 
already heard enough concerning it, nor would 
dwell longer on so melancholy a subject. 

Berthalind. — Melancholy enough, in truth; though it doth 
surprise me to hear such an admission from thyself. 

Drogo. — What! know you not I detest your chattering 
sex, that cannot plainly answer a plain question 
without mouthing disquisitions concerning other 
folks' business! 

Berthalind. — What doth the man want? 

Drogo. — The man doth want but a straight direction to 
the Lady Eunonia who, will-she nill-she, shall hear 
my message. 

Enter Bernardo behind them. 

Berthalind. — What? wouldst thou carry a boudoir by 
storm ? 

Drogo. — By siege and sack if 'twere needful! — give me 
mine answer! 

Bernardo. — (aside) — His answer! and but yestereve she 
promised me in place of truant Giles! Oh, scan- 
dalous! 

Berthalind. — Why, Master Bear, go thou along the cor- 
ridor yonder, then, turning to the right, lift a hang- 
ing tapestry, and, if thy rough tongue is able to pre- 



24i 

fer a smoother request, the wench who waiteth there 
will take thee to my lady. 

Drogo. — A thousand thanks,. Mistress Berthalind! in so 
much hast thou charmed me. 

Berthalind. — Why truly, Master Drogo, I cannot well re- 
fuse even thy — 

Bernardo. — (coming forward) — Faithless hussy! art thou 
sugaring this fellow also? 

Drogo. — This fellow! prithee, sir, what fellow art thou? 

Bernardo. — One who will score thy hide for thee, if thou 
darest again to address this lady or receive her re- 
plies. 

Berthalind. — Thou art overhasty, Bernardo; he but asked 
me — 

Drogo. — A plain question, sirrah! in the answering 
whereof this chattering magpie but delayed an hon- 
est man. 

Bernardo. — A civiller tongue would better become thee, 
friend ; or, by St. Jago, I will split it to improve thy 
speech! 

Drogo. — What! a miserable Spaniard beard a Norman 
in Normandy! by the great archangel, I will stuff 
Saint Jago down thy throat! 

Bernardo. — Cain was not Abel, thou swaggerer! spell me 
that. 

Berthalind. — Nay, nay, good gentlemen — 'tis all nothing; 
let me explain — 

Drogo. — Nothing? by Heaven he hath insulted me, and 
shall smart! 

Bernardo. — Go behind the arras, Berthalind, while I 
chastise this bragging savage! 

Drogo. — Bragging savage! Draw, sir! draw! 
Bernardo. — None more ready! say thy prayers. 



242 

Berthalind. — Help ! help ! 

They draw and fight. 
Stay, good gentlemen, both! ye quarrel for naught! 
Put up your swords, or I will call Lord Hugo! 
Bernardo! Bernardo! lovest thou me not? Oh, 
Bernardo! he will kill thee! 

Exeunt, Drogo and Bernardo righting. 

Scene II. — Raymond's Apartment in the Castle. 

Raymond, and Stephen the notary. 

Stephen. — My lord, the instruments are all complete, 
And need but signature and seal. 

Raymond. — The last 

De Ver of Ver! Complete, thou saidst? well, 

bring 
The parchments hither — nay, but hold awhile! 
When I do call, good Stephen, be prepared. 

Stephen. — My lord, my father was your father's clerk 
As I am yours; our service makes me bold 
To press again remonstrance and entreaty 
Concerning this most ill-advised resolve. 
What! with a pen-stroke disenfeoff De Ver 
Of all the rich possessions held and gained 
By splendid courage, noble loyalty, 
Sagacious handling, honourable endeavour; 
Not only of to-day, but stretching back 
Through a long line of princely ancestors? 

Raymond. — Deem not, good Stephen, that this act of 
mine 
Is aught but well-considered ; where thou dost grope 
Confounded 'mid the dark, I, who have kept 
With straining eyes long vigils of the night, 



243 

Discern the dawning of another day. 

Is it a riddle to thee? let it pass, 

Nor fret thyself with guesses or desire 

Of further knowledge. For the good intent 

Thine urgings bear me I do give thee thanks; 

Yet though thou art a man well skilled in law, 

Shrewd, thoughtful, honest, here thy judgment halts. 

Is that perforce the Best which as the Best 

May apprehended be by subtile minds? 

Mine action gaineth me sure harbour e'en 

Where thou dost hold me wrecked. So much I 

say — 
No more. Content thee Stephen — go — be near 
When I shall call thee. 

■Stephen. — Bitter is the task 

To me my lord. 

Raymond. — Man! is our life all sweet? 

Is duty less because unpalatable? 
Parley not further — I will have thy work 
Shaped to my liking, nor will show thee why. 

Stephen. — God save your worship. 

Exit Stephen. 

Raymond. — Kindly fool, 'twere base 

To blame his friendship; why, to him the heavens 
And earth will wear new aspect when no more 
Is Raymond Lord of Ver. No other course! 
This only promiseth the peace I found 
And lost in loving her. Too old! too old! 
The world's bright colours glare my weary eyes! 
I will not saunter down her common ways 
Leaning on Fortune. What! is Raymond formed 
Of weaker stuff than Lionel, who could tread 



244 

I lis heart beneath him in the dust? Shall she, 

Eunonia, then, out-hero me? for she could join 

In such a sacrifice as ne'er the world 

Had known — For what? For honour — duty! things 

Which blazoning my ambition spurred me on 

Through years of toil to scorn the evil, hold 

The good, and make temptation idle. Steeled 

I deemed myself — how easy 'twere to break 

The bonds of resolution when the hues 

Of that fair life still in my grasp array 

The future with their glory. O my love! 

Though thou canst love me not, thy happiness 

To me is dearer than mine own! For thee 

Do I resign the charmed old castle where 

My childhood laughed, the wealth so hardly earned, 

The fame and splendour won by high resolves 

Forced to successful end, the possible, 

Yea, sure, magnificence of coming Time, 

That crown of effort blessing human hands 

The perfect consummation of their labour. 

No empty finery, for he hath learnt 

Their regal value whose career began 

In poverty and debt; but take them, thou 

Who art Eunonia's love, yet lacking these 

Lack power to gain thy bride. O happy boy, 

Take them and her! despite the niggard heart 

Whose beatings thrill insatiable desire 

Through every sense and fibre — as the rays 

Of light leaven space. Ay, and as they consume 

The orbs which feed them yet impinging deal 

Life everywhere, this higher love of mine 

Shall in the depths of those true lovers' woe 

Create new worlds of unimagin'd bliss. 



245 

And it may be that if the residue 
Of life is vowed to holy preparation, 
When other forms of being garb the soul 
Through ever-widening cycles passing on 
To gradual perfectness; no longer swayed 
By human feelings, I shall rest content 
In her pure friendship, wishing naught beyond. 
Ralpho Gonsalamos, thou didst find peace 
Where peace is only found! 

Lionel. — (within) — My lord! 

Raymond.— Who calls? 

Stephen? not yet — 

Lionel— Tis Lionel. 

Raymond.— Sir Lionel? 

Then enter. 

Enter Lionel. 

Wert thou not asleep within? 

Lionel. — 'Twas so, my lord, but wearied of my couch 
After thou issuedst with the notary — 
And Drogo also gone — I rose to taste 
Again the air and sunshine. 

Raymond.— Were it wise- 

Thus late recovered from a grievous ill — 
So sudden a venture? 

Lionel. — Scarcely wise, perhaps; 

But my limbs ached for simple need of change, 
And, faith, they dragged me forth most willingly. 
Why stand you so perturbed, my lord? The thing 
Hath trivial grown — at least as others read it. 

Raymond. — Trivial? What? did Hugo — 

Lionel. — As I passed 

Round the first buttress face to face we stood, 



246 

My lord and I! and while I gasped distraught 
For want of fit invention to explain 
The reason of my presence, he supplied 
The story to his liking, nor did meet 
With contradiction. 

Raymond. — Blameless eyes mark not 

The blame of others! Heaven is merciful. 

Lionel. — He will be here, my lord, and quickly, bent 
On converse. I have stolen away to beg 
One last, especial favour — it is this, 
That when he cometh thou wilt urge his grace 
To overlook my disobedient deed 
In breaking his most strict command. In truth, 
But for this chance I had been afar by now — 
I cannot stay, my lord, and he would have me! 

Raymond. — Nay, that I will not, thou art mad again. 

Lionel. — Then lacking his forgiveness will I go; 
Farewell, my lord. 

Raymond. — Delirium! 

Lionel. — Doubly sane, 

For I, God help me, can resolve and do it! 

Raymond. — What wouldst thou fly from? Am I not thy 
friend? 

Lionel. — Yea, friend, yet enemy, if thou shouldst seek 
To hinder me in this. 

Raymond. — (aside) — He knoweth not 

The issue of his action! 

Lionel. — Must I go 

Sans leave-taking? it shall content me well 
If thou art suited? Evil hast thou done, 
And good to me, Lord Raymond. I am not 
An ingrate, yet the one may countervail 
The other! Thou art rich and famous, I 



247 

Am poor and tainted with a sire's dishonour; 
Yet were thy fortune trebled and mine own 
Still baser, save for one thing, I would not change 
Estate with thee this day! 

Raymond— (aside)— O poor, galled heart! 

Too well I know it. (To Lionel.) — Lionel, none need 

wish 
To change with me! I cannot quarrel now, 
Wert thou to strike me. Do not go, for much 
Have I to tell thee. 

Lionel — Nothing canst thou say 

That I desire to hear. 

Raymond. — Ungracious yet? 

Though we have mutually and foolishly, 
Since thy recovery, shunned all speech of what 
Most needeth speech; for my soul's weal and thine, 
No longer may dull silence bar the door 
Between us. Ever since that miserable hour 
When our swords crossed beneath these peaceful 

walls 
My life hath been like Cain's. 

Enter Hugo. 

Lionel. — 'Twas in fair fight, 

My lord, the hurt was given. 
Hugo. — Be sure of that! 

This royal hand ne'er took the scurviest foe 

At disadvantage. 
Raymond. — Hugo? thou? 

Lionel. — My lord? 

Hugo. — Lionel doth doubtless learn some high exploit 

Done by thy matchless valour — is't not so? 



248 

Nay, nay, 'tis plain! What! thought you he would 

smite 
In any way but open? Why, lad, he, 
Thy captain there, had battled Hercules 
Nor yielded! Now I swear thou couldst 
So hold thy peace! Faith, though, 'twere hardly 

wrought 
Against me to withdraw thy fellowship 
For nursing of the youngster! Are we bare 
Of women in the place? 

Raymond. — Dear Hugo — 

Hugo. — Nay, 

My crow is plucked! waste ne'er a word thereon, 
But tell me if in truth thou canst divine 
How chanced the hurt? 

Raymond. — Most easily, alas! 

Hugo. — What, sadly man? thou canst not! wait awhile 
Till years have gleaned new wisdom. Plain to me, 
Not therefore plain to thee! 

Lionel. — (aside) — Oh, how escape! 

Hugo. — Shortly 'twas thus — that in the darkness he, 
Elated with the thought of knightly prowess, 
Nor lacking wine perchance, fell foul of what 
Seemed some grim foe, and dashed upon 
A hard-grained tree or harder wall. Deny 
This an thou canst! Nay, be not shamed; 
We all have done it in the sprightlier time. 

Lionel. — Denial may not serve me. 

Hugo. — No, in faith! 

Then, Raymond, as thou cam'st from prayer, and 

saw 
Young Lionel's body prone across the path, 
Like the Samaritan of old., and moved 



249 

To utter kindness by fresh impulse rained 
In holy psalm and sermon on thine heart, 
Thou liftedst him within thine arms and bore 
To refuge, stanched his wound, and nursed 
Him day and night most tenderly. 

Lionel. — 'Tis true. 

Raymond. — True and not true — 

Lionel. — (to Raymond) — No more! 

Hugo. — And firmly fine 

In feeling as in deed, thou didst conceal 
The matter, Raymond, knowing well that I 
Had suffered with the lad whose comely face 
Hath brightened home and hearth these many years. 
Though sure and fast above all earthly ties 
Is friendship; yet, for the honour of mine house 
And love I bear thee, would my soul be fain 
To weld the chain still closer by the link 
Of golden marriage, wherefore let me press 
The speedy disposition of affairs 
Nor longer make delay. 

Enter Stephen. 
Raymond. — 'Tis done. I wait 

But for the notary's completed work; 

And fear not that Eunonia's weal, old friend, 

Could ever be forgotten. 
Stephen. — Pardon me, 

My lord, methought 'twere best — the writings — 
Raymond. — Fetch 

Them hither. 

Exit Stephen. 
Lionel. — By your leaves I will withdraw, 
Hugo. — Nay, I go with thee. 



250 

Raymond. — (to Lionel) — Tarry, Lionel; keep 

Our converse — trust me, I have much to say 

Of what may touch thee deeply. 
Lionel. — (to Raymond) — An I hear 

Thy voice no more 'twere best. 
Hugo. — Conclude, conclude. 

Raymond. — (to Lionel) — Thou know'st not what thou 

doest! 
Hugo. — I will away 

And leave ye both together. 
Lionel. — No, my lord, 

Thanks for thy courtesy, but nothing breeds 

Desire in me of private speech — 
Raymond. — What! naught? 

Lionel. — With the Lord Raymond; let us now be gone. 

Enter Stephen. 

Raymond. — Stephen? is it so near me? Hugo de St. 
Maur, 
By all the brotherhood of younger days, 
By all the sacred friendship which hath lit 
Our lives, I charge thee as a man unknowing 
If ever past our present parting we 
Shall meet again — I charge thee to observe 
The fixed conditions of these instruments, 
Which made in purest love of thee and thine, 
Will in their due effect give fit expression 
Unto my deep, deliberate resolve. 

Hugo. — Why we shall meet bound stronglier than before, 
In tenderer friendship, living in my child 
When I am gone. Say, hath the man of law 
With his provisoes, alsoes, howsoevers, 
Dog Latin, and old French o'erawed thy mind, 



25i 

That settlements pre-marital have grown 
Beyond their import weighty? Tush! defy 
The fiend. 

Raymond. — Bear with me, it may rightly be — 

How can they know! O Hugo, fare thee well 
Till all shall be accomplisht! 

Hugo. — Notary, 

Is thy craft answerable for this? 

Raymond. — Sir Lionel, 

Wilt thou fulfil one poor request of mine? 

Hugo. — That shall he. I will promise for him. 

Raymond. — Then 

I leave it so. Good Stephen here e'er long 
Will publish in the pictured gallery 
Before the household, what my hand and seal 
Upon these parchments will effect this day. 
It is my wish, since Lionel doth not speak, 
That thou, dear Hugo, take him thither to hear 
Results which do concern him mightily. 

Lionel. — Be not so hard, my lord, I will attend. 

Raymond. — I thank thee, Lionel. Oh, my friends, 'tis 
well! 
And if I seem beyond my usual wont 
To feel the things which crowd the passing hour, " 
Or bear the triumph sadly, be assured 
My sense and powers are unimpaired, and grasp 
Their purposes unfalteringly resolved — 
Sane and serene. Farewell, farewell. 

Lionel. — Farewell. 

Hugo. — If 'tis thy humour, Raymond, then, farewell. 

Exeunt Hugo and Lionel, 



252 

Raymond. — Quick, Stephen! 

Stephen hands him parchments. 

Hath each wish of mine herein 
A legal issue? 
Stephen. — Certainly, my lord. 

Raymond. — These the indentures? 
Stephen. — These are they, my lord. 

Raymond. — Lend me thy pen — now witness — this my 
hand 
And seal. 

Affixes them. 
Tis done, 'tis done! Thou churlish boy 
Thus I requite thee. 
Stephen. — Why not bid me tear 

The hellish writings in a million fragments! 
Raymond. — Nay, Stephen, they are more divine than 
aught 
Thou ever didst. Most carefully explain 
The purport of my deed as I have said 
Already. Fail me not, for thou above 
The followers of thy lore art honest. Haste! 
The payment of thy labour waits within. 
Now to deliver her,, then all is finished! 
Exeunt. 

Scene III. — A Passage in the Castle. 
Drogo. 

Drogo. — The Spaniard shall remember me — well for him 
we were parted. The Lady Eunonia is comely 
enough spite of her sad eyes, and pleasant-spoken, 
withal, as speech goeth among them. Still, even 
an amiable toleration of the sex need not weakly 



253 

dribble into marriage. If by dallying I have not 
missed my lord, he should according to his inten- 
tion pass this place, and on the instant. Unfore- 
seen waiting is not dallying, and Count Hugo's be- 
ing with the lady was cause sufficient for delay, 
seeing that until he withdrew I could not be received 
privately as my message required. Ha, 'tis a young 
gosling would carry needless blame! Hither he 
cometh — courage Drogo, courage! he can but 
sourn thee, and that is none of his custom. 

Enter Raymond. 

My lord, the Lady Eunonia will await your wor- 
ship presently in the pictured gallery. 

Raymond. — Tis good, old dog! wilt thou like thy new 
master — young, handsome, and brave? 

Drogo. — I have but one master. 

Raymond. — In heaven? 

Drogo. — Nay, I know nothing thereof; 'tis your worship 
of whom I speak. 

Raymond. — My worship will no longer be thy master, 
so look and do good service wherever it is claimed. 

Drogo. — None may claim my service but my lord; and 
none else shall ever have it. 

Raymond. — What! if the parchments be duly sealed and 
attested, and the notary so proclaim it? Wilt thou 
not fall down and reverence gold? 

Drogo. — Love made my heart your worship's; how can 
gold buy it? 

Raymond. — One man living who adoreth not the com- 
mon idol! Tried old friend, I have but mocked 
thee! No, Drogo, see — I have left that behind 
me which shall buy land enough to keep thee be- 



254 

yond any master's whims and pettishness. Awajr 
now to the notary, he is in my chamber, and de- 
mand thy property from him. He hath my com- 
mands, and knoweth how to act. Delay not. Time 
is pressing me sore and I have far to go ere the 
night close. No, no, Drogo, I would not leave my 
faithful watch-dog to a new master's mercies. 

Drogo. — These sayings are dark, my lord! 

Raymond. — What? plainlier man? He loveth plain- 
speaking also! a man among a thousand! 

Drogo. — I was never good at riddlement — straight cut- 
and-thrust talk suiteth me best. 

Raymond. — Did I not send thee to the notary? He hath 
reasons at so much a folio, and knoweth my mind 
beside. 

Drogo. — Master Stephen is a decent soul, though some- 
what dry; yet, my lord, speak fairly unto me, nor 
leave me longer with the heartache. 

Raymond. — Well then, in homely speech, dear compan- 
ion, trusty servant, faithful watch-dog, loving 
Drogo, thou and I stand now face to face for the 
last time on earth; in truth, good fellow, we must 
part. 

Drogo. — Part, my lord? why? what have I done? 

Raymond. — 'Tis not what thou hast done, but what I 
have done which rnaketh such dealing necessary. 

Drogo. — Whither go you, my lord? 

Raymond. — Ask me not. 

Drogo. — Art thou going far? 

Raymond. — So far, that all which was will never be again! 

Drogo. — May I not go also? 

Raymond. — Thou mayest not. 

Eff^dgd. — Why' may I not? 






255 

Raymond. — Drogo, year after year hast thou served me 
well, but never yet didst thou question my com- 
mands. Away to the notary — live, prosper, and be 
happy. I will pray for thee and thou shalt have 
peace. Forget me, Drogo — there — farewell. 

Drogo. — Lord Raymond, many a year yet shall I serve 
thee better! What! leave thee in my scarred age 
who art my sun, my pride, my glory, the centre of 
my humble thoughts, my dearest master? Surely, 
my lord, thou wilt not cast me off without a reason ! 

Raymond. — I cannot give thee any. 

Drogo. — Then will I follow thee wherever thou dost go, 
and live on garbage so I may see thy face were it 
only once a twelvemonth! 

Raymond. — Heavens! there is no escape! Drogo, I have 
resigned this day my rank and riches, and shall pass 
the rest of earthly life in some calm monastery, 
against which the waves of human folly may break 
but never overwhelm. Canst thou comprehend? I 
am no longer Raymond, Lord of Ver, but a poor 
monk — an unworthy brother of thine own. How 
then can I need thee further? 

Drogo. — Amazing! how canst thou need me further? 
Didst thou think that change of estate in thee could 
change Drogo? Why, thou wilt need me more than 
ever. I will not leave thee, dear master, while I 
have breath to say it! 

Raymond. — Wouldst thou be a monk, too, and handle 
rosaries instead of swords? counting beads in place 
of the slain, and living in an atmosphere where 
never cometh scent of danger? Bethink thee, man, 
nor utterly be lost. 

Drogo. — Like thyself I have no kith nor kin, Why 



256 

should I leave thee? Let me go with thee, and I 
will e'en be a bald friar if 'tis in thy company! Oh, 
my lord, thou knowest not how impossible 'tis for 
me to part from thee while I am a living soul! 

Raymond. — Must I give way? 'tis folly, Drogo! Good 
Drogo, look you, I leave you well provided, and 
independent of the world. Better than any man's 
service will be thine own. 

Drogo. — I care not! I will with thee wherever thou 
goest — though thou trample on me, though I go 
naked, though devils bar the way! I cannot leave 
thee! 

Raymond. — Oh, then, habet! Thou doest thyself shame- 
ful despite! To the horses and there tarry. I will 
join thee soon. Away! 

Drogo. — Dear lord, beyond all thanks will I prove my 
gratitude for this! 
Exeunt. 

Scene IV. — The Pictured Gallery in Count Hugo's Castle. 
Eunonia. 

Eimonia. — Would that submission brought oblivion too! 
How vain the bitter striving! What I seek 
To bury with the desolated past 
Is disentomb'd by every pitiless knell 
Which tolls the tale of time, and bleeding wounds 
Are with new agonies reopened, making 
My wild endeavours to forget effectless. 
There! we had parted and the horrible pang 
Was over — though it killed us it was done. 
Then came Gerard's entreaty, and ere numbed 
To cold passivity, that mad, white face 
Peered, like the spirit of Lionel groping lost 



257 

'Mid deathly presences, until again 

He found me on his bosom. Now, my father, 

As with good tidings, telleth how my love 

Was dashed against a tree, and will remain 

To view my marriage with Lord Raymond! God! 

I durst not meet the dawn of such a day 

Were it with Lionel possible; look Thou 

To that! — a monstrous thing! a dream! my sire's 

Contriving — insupportable ! /.vaunt ! 

Dishonouring phantom! I will not believe it! 

Must the clogg'd wheel of Destiny grind on 

To sure fulfilment of a dreaded morrow? 

O that the last great judgment-day could burst 

The skies this moment, hurling mountains down 

And making every power of Nature useless, 

Decrepid, dead, unacting! — then this base, 

This pitiful life were done and all were over. 

Alas! the Present will not pass, his wish 

Constraineth me — my future lord. Oh! shame 

That thus obediently I come, nor Heaven 

Doth slay me! How I yearned he might delay 

Still further! Mercy, there is none for me; 

It must be borne — my father's bond — the troth 

Pledged sacredly — Lionel's heroic words — 

Enter Raymond. 

No looking back! Oh, Raymond, didst thou know, 
Surely thy manhood had vouchsafed release! 
Raymond. — {aside) — Vouchsafed release? how doubly 
hard the task 
When her too heavenly face is nigh! Be still 
Tumultuous heart, nor altogether choke 



258 

My speech with these fierce beatings. {To Eunonia) 

Lady, thou 
Hast deigned to meet me here. 

Eunonia. — Thy messager, 

My lord, did so direct 

Raymond. — Direct? Entreaty 

Was that wherewith I charged him. 

Eunonia. — Alike the end. 

Raymond. — Nay, if those tones were not thine own, how 
harsh 
Might seem their import; but thy voice, or ire 
Or love compelled it, on mine ear would fall 
As filled with melody divine. 

Eunonia. — My lord, 

I am but weak and sick; if anywise 
The business causing this our interview 
Could be completed with convenient speed, 
It were most grateful to me. 

Raymond. — Say est thou so? 

It would indeed be well, and shall be well. 
'Tis of thy marriage — 

Eunonia. — Lord Raymond, spare me that! 

I know the tie which binds us — be thou sure 
Thereof — but, give me leave, this wondrous change 
Which so exalts the maiden to a wife 
Is one which suiteth meditation best; 
In truth, I cannot talk thereon with thee. 
Be thou contented — let the hour be fixed, 
I shall not fail. Oh, do not press, my lord, 
For previous wooing — let it go; so thou 
Do gather fruit, what matter if thy hand 
Hath never toiled in tillage. 



259 

Raymond. — O my love! 

My love! I am content! I am content — 
God help me an it should be otherwise — 
Content to lose thee. 

Eunonia. — What, my lord? 

Raymond. — Content 

To lose thee — to release thee — to restore 
Thy Lionel to thee; will not that suffice? 

Eunonia. — Such mockery ill befits thee; it were best, 
My lord, to have this meeting overpast. 

Raymond. — 'Twere wholly best! Yet be thou sure of 
this, 
Thy Lionel's love to mine — why, what are words? 
Shall I be bragging? Fie! 'twere vile. 

Eunonia. — My lord, 

I do beseech thee let the business rest, 
Another day may serve. 

Raymond. — No, no; to-day! 

To-day, to-day! to-morrow? what is that? 

Eunonia. — Thy words are strange, my lord. 

Raymond. — They shall be clear. 

Forgive me, I will crush it under foot — 
Great God, 'tis horrible! So lovely fair, 
And pale, and sad, and dark-ringed eyes — and done 
By me! Oh, pardon, pardon, for the sin 
Of loving thee, and all the miserable 
Result! but, by the Eternal Father, 'twas 
In ignorance that thou hadst given thy heart 
To one more worthy. 

Eunonia. — (aside) — Is it then discovered? 

Raymond. — Had I but known! I only knew too late. 

Eunonia. — My lord, wouldst thou say more? 

Raymond. — Thy father woke 



260 

My slumbering senses, and I gazed and loved — 
What else were possible? He pressed the pledge 
So lightly spoken, or it had never been. 
Through weary years of war my yearning soul 
Had turned to some bright future where true Peace 
Should bless me, and the happy daytime glide 
To happier dark, and Ver's old castle ring 
With rosy children's laughter: such a dream 
As comes to toiling men amid their mirk 
And seeming endless labour — but a dream. 
Yet when that sunshine morning I beheld 
With fresh-awaked perception thy dear form, 
The glory of thy beauty, and the light 
Of those pure eyes, I deemed my dream fulfill'd, 
Nor doubted. Was it base in me to feel 
The headlong current of a passionate love? 
Why didst thou charm me back to glowing youth 
And make existence rapture? Ask me not 
How 'twas discovered, but full soon I knew 
My stranger step was trampling on the hopes 
Of two united hearts — all innocently, 
As God shall judge us! and this day I come 
To make thee reparation. 

Eunonia. — Oh, my lord, 

I have maligned thee! — vilely, kindlessly! 

Raymond. — I do release thee in the sight of Heaven 
From any bond of marriage to myself, 
And unto Lionel do restore thee now — 
My love! my only love! 

Eunonia. — O noble Raymond! 

What hast thou given! 

Raymond. — Eunonia! dare my lips 

Take that dear name thus boldly? — think of me 



26 1 

As one who loved thee more than any man 
E'er loved a woman. Oh, thou hast the proof 
In this! 

Eunonia. — I was not worthy, thou art high 

Above — forgive my cruel words. 

Raymond. — Forgive? 

Nay, speak for ever! 

Eunonia. — Thanks are beggarly! 

How recompense thy deed? 

Raymond. — My recompense 

Is in thy happiness. Oh love, and live 
Belov'd; and be to Lionel all I would 
Thou wert to me. As years shall pass 
In sheen and shadow do thou sometimes turn 
Aside when the day dies, and breathe a prayer 
For Raymond, so before the throne of Him 
Who made us what we are, our spirits will 
Commingle. 

Eunonia. — Whither goest thou? 

Raymond. — Should I stay 

To cloud thy life? One kiss! — yet I can go! 
Father, bless Thou my darling! Oh, farewell. 
Exit Raymond. 

Eunonia. — There is none like thee! gone? Are angels 
more 
Than he? Released! and Lionel mine? 

Enter Hugo, Lionel, Gerard, Stephen, Ber- 
thalind, Bernardo, and Servants. 

His love 
Hath whelm'd me. Phantasy! nay, no vision — see 
Who come — Lionel among them, and my father! 
What meaneth this? 

Stephen. — The place and time appointed. 



262 

Hugo. — Good notary, do thine errand — ha, my child! 
Remain — be sure the present business thee 
Concerneth. 

Stephen. — Shall I now declare the pith 

And sinew of the matter, or peruse 
These legal covenants? 

Hugo. — They may suffice 

To authenticate thy speech; where is Lord Ray- 
mond? 

Stephen. — He comes not hithe 

Hugo. — And the reason? 

Stephen.— That, 

He only knoweth — 'twas his will. 

Hugo. — A whim! 

He is full of fancies — so be it! Say on, 
Good Stephen, we attend thee. 

Lionel. — (aside) — Near me now, 

And peerless in her beauty — but removed 
As Tophet yawned between us! 

Eunonia. — {aside) — Sad and pale, 

Yet grief is slain by noble Raymond's hand! 

Stephen. — Count Hugo and all persons toward! 'tis 

Well known that short while gone Lord Raymond 

Summoned 
My presence here, and hath employed my skill 
In many weighty matters of his pleasure; 
Results whereof are these most binding acts, 
Which do consolidate his wishes into 
Their strict expression by our laws, thereby 
Conforming to his often-urged instructions — 
So much for warranty. You, my good lord, 
And eke Sir Lionel, can be witnesses 
That the illustrious Raymond, Lord of Ver, 



263 

Commanded me to publish in this place 
Before the household, what his hand and seal 
Affixed to these grave parchments had accomplish- 
ed. 

Hugo. — I can bear witness. 

Lionel. — I, as well. 

Stephen.— Withal, 

Was it not clearly evident that my lord 
In sanity and health expressed his will 
Most excellently accompanied by reason? 

Hugo. — No saner nor more reasonable man alive! 

Lionel. — In truth, Lord Raymond did discourse as one 
Who held some gracious end with firm resolve 
Of manly intellect. 

Stephen. — Thanks for the proof. 

Now hearken! Raymond, late of Ver, by deed 
Of gift, attendant settlements, and all 
Such legal statutes as are necessary, 
Doth freely give, convey, confirm, and grant 
His whole possessions, hereditaments; 
Corporeal, incorporeal, personal 
Estate, choses in action or possession; 
Both chattels real and chattels personal — 
In brief, whatever thing on earth was his, 
Unto, mark this, Sir Lionel de Toesni, 
To have, hold, and enjoy, himself and heirs 
For ever: 

Hugo. — Heavens! 'tis false, thou evil scribe! 

Lionel. — It chokes me! What? from Raymond? 

Eunonia. — Oh, 'tis love 

As Christ's divine! 

Hugo. — 'S death, thou imposture! close 

Thy lying mouth! 



264 

Stephen. — I do not lie, my lord; 

These instruments attest the utter truth 

Of every word. Take them and read — see here 

The signature and seal. 
Lionel. — All well agrees 

With his late sayings. 
Hugo. — Forgery ! Gerard ! 

Commit him to the dungeon! 
Stephen. — No, my lord; 

I am Sir Lionel's man — Lord Raymond so 

His followers willed. 
Hugo. — Where is my friend? 

Stephen. — :My lord, 

I know not. 
Hugo. — A vile murderer's plot! and thou, 

Sir Lionel, hast a hand. Find me Lord Raymond. 

For till himself shall swear the verity 

Of this, may hell be mine if I believe it! 

ACT V. 

Scene I. — The Monastery, Mount St. Michael. 
{The Common-room.) 

Anselmo and Drogo, the latter cleaning some large candle- 
sticks. 

Anselmo. — Thou art unlearn'd, despite my toil good 
brother ! 
These candlesticks placed round his corse who sped 
But yesterday from death to life, do sign 
That Christians look for light beyond the grave. 

Drogo. — I had forgot — good Robert, kindly abbot, 
May he find rest among the saints in bliss! 



26s 

Ansel mo. — That Ambrose should be chosen to his throne 
By all the chapter is a precedent 
Most dangerous. 

Drogo. — And wherefore, holy prior? 

My noble lord hath borne the yoke and filled 
His place so mannered with true sanctity 
That Abbot John, of Otterton, in Devon, 
Where we did first profess — an Englishman 
And prejudiced against our nation — writ 
With his own hand most special commendations 
Unto our careful abbot, who in turn 
Bore him such reverence as to publicly 
Name him successor; and that choice, thou sayest 
Hath by the chapter been confirmed. 

Ansclmo. — Thy lord? 

Who is thy noble lord? Beraldus, thou 
Wilt not remember that a man becoming 
A monk relinquisheth possessions, name, 
And everything he calleth his; nor hath 
His daily necessaries supplied but through 
The hands of spiritual fathers at command 
Of their Superior. All are equal here 
Before the God Who made us! See thy tongue 
Offendeth not again, or thou shalt straight 
Do penance in the solitary cell. 

Drogo. — I will endeavour, though, meseems, my lord 
Hath grown but nobler since he wore this frock 
And knelt the humblest monk amid us all. 

Ansclmo. — Yet hath he but renounced the world two 
years, 
While thrice that time I have been prior here, 
And, till he came, assured the higher seat — 
The abbey hath but known him seven months past 



266 

Drogo. — Ay, but an exile of one year in England 
Weareth both flesh and spirit more than ten 
Breathed wholesomely in Normandy; my lord 
Was aged and weakened much thereby — I pray 
That in this native and more bracing air 
He may eftsoons recover. 

Anselmo. — Still "my lord"? 

Thou art incorrigible! Hast thou also cleans'd 
The holy-water basins, incense-burners, 
Lamps, chalices, and other sacred vessels 
Against the requiem? 

Drogo. — Save the monstrance, all. 

Anselmo. — Bear these within, and with a silken cloth 
Make clean the altar and the pyx thereon; 
And for the froward titling of a monk — 
One brother Ambrose — in the choir to-night 
Carry a lantern, so the light shall keep 
Thy sin in due remembrance, and, beside, 
Rouse brethren who seek slumber. 

Drogo. — (aside) — I shall yet 

Demand my secular habit! 
Exit Drogo. 

Anselmo. — What saith John? 

"Another is preferr'd before me"? Why? 
There is no reason which a just account 
May urge herein. Strange that mine ancient foe 
Should worst me in this place! What need could 

rise 
For Hugo de St. Maur to ask with tears 
If Raymond were a habitant — as well 
I do remember — and for months renew 
His pettish questioning? Is Raymond now, 



26y 

As broken Ambrose, worth my envy? he 
Is bound too surely for the unseen land. 
Yet when St. Maur may meet these eyes again, 
I shall acquaint him of our new-made abbot, 
Whose heart, methinks, too fondly beats accord 
With the low hopes and loves of men and women. 
Was he not pledged in marriage to some dame? 
Ha! they return. 

Enter Raymond, Thomas, Witmund, and other 
monks. 

Till one hath formal place 
Authority is mine; an chance reveal 
Suspected weakness, I will test him well. 

Thomas. —Nay, thou canst have no scruple! Father 
Robert 
When at my hands he took viaticum 
And blest me, whispered "Ambrose" faintly, thus, 
While death drew on him; meaning that his will 
As previously expounded was that thou, 
Dear brother Ambrose, in his place shouldst be 
Our abbot, bishop, pastor, master, head. 
The choice is now confirmed by consistory 
Of brethren formed obedient to the rule 
Of sainted Benedict, wherefore we beg 
Thine honourable acceptance, and will then 
Present thee duteously for installation. 

Witmund. — Yea, brother; in our voices hear the wish 
Consentient of our whole fraternity; 
Nor let humility annul the act 
Which surely is approved by God Himself. 

Thomas. — Speak, Master Prior, and overcome his doubt, 



268 

Ansclmo. — Tis as thou hearest, though perchance thy 
thoughts 
Admonish thee how, passing late received 
Into the bosom of our holy Mother, 
It were a great and grievous sin to take 
The sacred office with a wavering mind 
Still moved by freshly-quitted lusts. For this, 
If my experience with thine own should fit, 
Is where we fail year after year, until 
By grace continual bound to Christ and all 
The company of saints, our hearts no more 
Respond to weak emotions, and the body 
New-born puts off the old Adam and purely waits 
A bride arrayed to meet her heavenly Bridegroom. 

Witmund. — But, reverend prior, our gentle brother here 
Hath shown such constancy of holiness 
As cometh not from those who with an eye 
Turned backward to the world profess our life. 

Thomas. — Although so short a time before our face, 
His every deed hath been a testimony 
That if perfection in the holy things 
Whereto we strive with groaning had been given 
To man, the same were Ambrose. 

Anselmo. — Ay, but flesh 

Is frail till well inured in sanctity! 
I would be last gainsaying any worth 
In any brother, and indeed my love 
For him in this may speak which would deplore 
Aught seeming failure in the best attempt 
Of inexperience to essay control 
Of this great abbey. 

Thomas. — Failure? 

Witmund. — Not with him! 



269 

Raymond. — How richly do ye clothe my nakedness, 
Kind brothers, and have utterly put by 
My weakness and unfitness — charity 
Which covereth up the vile, and magnifies 
Half-deadened evil into perfect good! 

Anselmo. — Most wisely spoken, brother. 

Raymond. — Not for me 

The abbot's chair, though with his dying breath 
Our happier father chose me, and the monks, 
Adopting his desire, do by ye twain 
Seek my acceptance! It were vain, dear friends, 
For one so worn and weary to attempt it! 
Nay, but remember, from the English land 
I hastened, knowing well mine earthly days 
Drew to another dawn, and hither prest 
By a fierce yearning to bid life "adieu" 
In sight of Normandy, my country. 

Anselmo. — That 

Did reach mine ear aforetime. 

Raymond. — Else, as now, 

My tongue had never needed adequate words 
To tell my poor heart's gratitude for this 
Most precious of your many courtesies. 

Witmund. — Our father Robert was not strong. 

Anselmo. — Yet lithe 

And passing active. 

Thomas. — But a feeble man — 

"My grace shall be sufficient," saith the Lord — 
Thou dost abase thyself. 

Anselmo. — The rarer wisdom. 

Raymond. — Shall then a stranger, one so little known 
Among ye be assigned the government? 
Is there no holier man within the place? 



2 7° 

None more deserving preference that ye seek 
The last and most unworthy? 

Thomas. — Tis of right — 

Expressly writ by sainted Benedict, 
That should the brotherhood be minded, they 
May choose the last new-comer. 

Witmund. — And 'twas done 

Ofttimes in other abbeys and our own. 

Raymond. — Where is necessity? The reverend prior 
Standeth before us well-approved by word 
And deed, a noble soldier in Christ's army. 
Meseemeth, far beyond mere human choice, 
The hand of God doth witness this is he 
Who should be abbot. 

Ansclmo. — Thou art kind. 

Raymond. — In truth, 

Ye have forgotten, while our father lay 
Long ailing his lieutenant faithfully 
Performed all duties of the sacred seat, 
And now, until 'tis filled, is by the canon 
Accredited our lawful ruler. Who 
Can cast a stone against his any act? 
Hath he not served our welfare and the faith's 
With single heart? given firm example? borne 
The cross in tears and fasting, yet observed 
With pure religion and taie dignity 
The functions of his office? shall the work 
Of years, wherein he was confirmed with each 
Recurring day a minister of heaven, 
Be lightly valued? Nay, I do ye wrong 
To deem it possible! No abbotship 
For me, but if ye do esteem my wish, 



However lightly, bear this answer back, 
And pray the chapter to elect Anselmo. 

Thomas. — Our reverend brother is most highly held; 
In verity his actions speak for him, 
But it is somewhat feared he would revert 
Unto the ancient, unendurable 
Interpretation of Saint Benedict's 
Familiar canons. 

Witmund. — Placing on our shoulders 

Intolerable burdens, so the weak 
Shall perish by the w r ay. 

Thomas. — We do refuse 

To take the meats and raiment which sufficed 
Egyptian hermits as appropriate here 
In this our frosty clime. 

Anselmo. — No violent 

Constraint I seek, but undeniably 
We have professed the rule of Benedict 
Yet fail in strict observance. 

Raymond. — Why, herein 

The reverend prior's zeal is clear; and best, 
Dear brothers, such a man should be supreme 
Than one who might by natural wishes gauge 
Your spiritual welfare. It was true 
And wisely spoken that till well inured 
In patient godliness the flesh is weak. 
For often when alone I pace atop 
The scarped rock which sheers into the whirl 
Of waters do I dream of what hath been, 
What might have been, and what now is, with all 
The passionate longing and regret of mere 
Humanity! Yea, though the world is dead 



272 

To me and I to it as if the flowers 
Bloomed o'er my grave. 

Enter Janitor, with Lionel, Eunonia, and 

Gerard following. 

Thomas. — In sorrow have we heard 

Thine answer. 
Janitor. — My lord prior and holy masters, 

Here be a couple craving- marriage-rites, 

Nor will they be denied. 
Lionel. — Most pious father, 

Tis as he sayeth — we have crossed the Greve 

At peril of our lives to seek secure 

Performance of the sacred ceremony. 

Haste of thy charity, ere, hurrying on, 

A mulish sire may overtake and vex 

Your ears with anger! 
Raymond. — (aside) — God have mercy ! She 

Again? all the old agony returns. 
Anselmo. — Who are ye, with such sauciness to force 

Our privacy? 
Gerard. — Of that may I avouch 

Most reverend father — Lionel, Lord of Ver, 

Erst named De Toesni, is the groom; the bride, 

Lady Eunonia, only child of him, 

Count Hugo de St. Maur. 
Anselmo. — A liberal son 

Of holy Church; why do they flee him? 
Gerard. — Sooth, 

To tell, he doth impose impossible 

Conditions, and reserveth his consent 

Till their fulfilment. 
Raymond. — (aside) — Oh, my heart goes out 

To meet her! 



Anselmo.— Is the lady such an age 

As warranteth the sacrament required — 
Her sire's bestowal wanting? 

Eunonia. — I have seen 

Nigh two-and-twenty years 

Raymond. — (aside) — Too young! 'tis best, 

Tis best! 

Thomas. — (to Raymond) — What aileth thee, my brother? 

Raymond.— Naught; 

A fleeting spasm — nay, naught — 

Anselmo. — As yet too youthful, 

And 'twere but folly to offend the Count. 
Fair son and daughter, the holy Church to all 
Her children is a handmaid, so with due 
And lawful service everything be done, 
Nor impious haste profane her hallowed rites. 
Count Hugo is our friend, I may not deem 
It meet against his will to sanction this 
Untoward marriage of his daughter. 

Eunonia. — She 

May give assurance, father, that the act, 
Though lacking that assent, before the heavens 
Is just and blameless. 

Lionel. — I will pile thy store 

With golden ingots, an the marriage halts 
No longer! 

Anselmo. — Wouldst thou gild religion? fie! 

Bring me fair evidence the Count St. Maur 
Assenteth to thy marriage, or resolve 
His fixed conditions, and with mine own voice 
I will pronounce the benediction. 

Witmund. — Good ! 

Else were't irregular. 



274 

Lionet. — He wiil not consent- 

No! were the Almighty's finger on him laid 
To urge it! 

Raymond. — (aside) — Needless now to fear — they know 
Me not! I must be changed indeed! 

Lionel. — Unless 

Beyond the power of doubt itself to doubt, 
'Tis proved that Raymond, sometime Lord of Ver, 
Is dead. For two years past afar and near 
Continual search was made, but not a breath 
Concerning him hath blest me — who can then 
Resolve the hard condition? 

Raymond. — That can I. 

Euncnia. — Oh, father, hast thou seen that noble soul? 
Tell me, and is he dead? 

Thomas. — Thou brother? 

Raymond. — I. 

Lionel. — Heaven bless thee for it! hear'st thou that, sir 
prior? 

Anselmo. — I hear — it needeth explication. 

Ennnoia. — Say, 

Sweet father, didst thou look upon his face 
Before he died? He would confess to thee — 
A man so evidently gentle, worn 
With the deep lines of sorrow — did he speak 
Of me — Eunonia? Oh, I owe him all 
I am or may be! Father, wilt thou say? 

Lionel. — Tell her thou venerable monk! His hand 
Bestowed such gifts on me that were my voice 
To rise in fitting praise, ye all would deem 
That praise idolatry and heaven forgot! • 

Raymond. — Oh, many times within the two past years 
I heard him name thy name, fair lady; he 



275 

Did ever entertain a reverent 

And lasting love for thee, nor could forget 

The hope which once gave glory to his life. 

Lionel. — And aught of me? 

Raymond. — My son, he humbly sought 

Thy pardon for much wrong, and bade thee clasp 
Thy love the closer to thy heart, for that 
When honour seemed to thrust her from thee, she 
Would go. 

Anselmo. — (aside) — Some hidden frailty here! he shall 
Be celebrant. 

Eunonia. — Oh, what is love like ours 

To this! 

Raymond. — (aside) — I cannot long endure. 

Anselmo. — Fair children, 

If Ambrose to his words dare set the seal 
Of Truth by act they seem to justify, 
And also take the peril as his own — 
Whatever followeth on the unapproved 
Achievements — presently may be fulfill'd 
Your marriage. 

Raymond. — What is meant, Anselmo? 

Anselmo. — Thou, 

Be thou the celebrant — do thou pronounce 
Their nuptial blessing at thy singular risk; 
So blame — if blame ensue — shall only rest 
On thee, nor Hugo bear offence to us 
Poor monks who quarrel not with benefactors. 

Witmnnd. — A fine discretion! 

Thomas. — He is best our abbot. 

Raymond. — Thus thou wilt sanction? 

Anselmo. — Yea. 



2?6 

Raymond. — Then I will do it! 

Help me, my God, to drink this bitter cup! 

Anselmo. — Proceed we to the chapel — follow us, 
Lord Lionel and thy lady; by the help 
Of this good friar ye twain will soon be one. 
Exeunt. 

Scene II. — Passage before the Gate. 
The Janitor. 

Janitor. — A mouldy loaf and sour ale ! hardly worth place 
in my lodging yonder above the gate, where the 
roof now leaks, and the stairs grow more tortuous 
every time I climb them! The cellarer refuseth 
me a new suit because supplies are short! and why 
short? because he hath been lazy. I strive to bear 
ills quietly and never grumble, yet these be griev- 
ances would make a man's blood boil were the cli- 
mate warm enough! 'Twas a prime brewing when 
the abbot's old sow fell into the vat, and privately 
diluted herself for our special comfort, last October! 
The ale hath been thin and watery ever since, with 
a twang of verjuice surely got by reflection from 
the malster's lenten countenance. Were he to tum- 
ble in the loss would be small — yet the gain would 
be small also. Still there is much earning thank- 
fulness here; but who shall be our new abbot? Is't 
possible the chapter will heed the whims of a dying 
oddity? 'Twere criminal to appoint Ambrose who 
hath hardly courage to return my salutation, and 
whose ravaged frame can, surely, never bear the 
weight. The great archangel prevent it — lawfully 
or unlawfully — all's one to me so it be done ! Why, 



277 

he hath a soft heart like a woman's, and when 1 
came suddenly on him yesterday at sunset top of 
the cliff and disturbed his devotions, he started and 
blushed more like some nervous wench than a cowled 
monk! Abbot, forsooth! penance would become 
unknown and the prison a desolate waste! Dis- 
cipline so relax that the fathers, grown turbulent 
and luxurious, would e'en drink wine in their water! 
The standard of virtue must be maintained, in ap- 
pearance at least, or where is our reputation? Now 
the prior hath all claims to the office — is vigorous, 
able, and, moreover, my friend. Yet the best man 
is not always placed nighest the fire, except in hell 
where, doubtless, desert is properly respected. Yet 
whoever may be abbot, here do I escape Frinegunde, 
and the Church consequently hath proved a refuge 
indeed! I may not be by nature religious or rit- 
ualistically inclined, but, like Lot, am blest in es- 
caping Gomorrah and leaving a wife behind. The 
clack-clack of her scolding tongue is well nigh for- 
got, and only harmeth my dreams. Therefore, I 
bless the discerning prior who named me Janitor, 
and shall ever be his true man. 

bell rings. 
Another visitor! he may wait. Strange how I came 
here to be rid of a wife and that young lord to get 
one! Yet, will I not backbite him (bell rings) for 
his hand is liberal and his sweetheart comely. 
Mayhap, gentlefolk have more comfort at home 
than poor people. 

bell rings again. 
Faith! the bell will be twisted off. Who rings? 



278 

Hugo. — (within) — Open, Janitor! open! 

bell rings. 
Janitor. — Stay thy hand! thou wilt spoil our bell. There 

can be no need for such clatter were the devil him- 
self in chase! 
Hugo. — (ringing) — Open ! open, I say ! open ! or by Saint 

Michael, I will batter down the place! 
Janitor. — Pretty words in a sanctuary! The impiety of 

the outside world groweth hugely day by day. 
bell rings. 

Who art thou thus disturbing peace? Give thyself 

a name, an thou hast one! 
Hugo. — St. Maur! St. Maur! open, Janitor, for the love 

of God! St. Maur! 
Janitor. — Whew! a testy old rascal; but the prior would 

baste me were I to anger him, so he must e'en be 

admitted. 

opens the gate. 
Welcome to your lordship! 

Enter Hugo and servants armed. 
Hath your lordship rung? I knew not that 'twas 
your lordship. 

Hugo. — 'Fore God, Janitor, I am tempted to knock thy 
head against the post! Wherefore delayedst thou? 

Janitor. — I humbly beseech your lordship's pardon. I 
took your lordship for one of the commonalty who 
is expected. 

Hugo. — Thou egregious knave! inform me instantly if 
my daughter and a gentleman have come here de- 
siring marriage? We traced them to the shore and 
in the sands, and learn they were just before us. 

Janitor. — A fair young lady? 



279 
Hugo. — Yea. 

Janitor. — And a handsome young gentleman? 
Hugo. — Yea, yea — the traitor! 
Janitor. — Then such were admitted some quarter or half 

hour back. 
Hugo.— Where are they? take me to them instantly! 

Where are they? 
Janitor. — They are e'en now being made man and wife if 

indeed it be not already done. 
Hugo.—- Oh, I will slay him as he standeth before her! 

undutiful daughter! Conduct me to them, Janitor! 

stay not an instant! 
Janitor.— We had best go straight to the church. I 

heard the gentleman plead for speedy celebration. 

Follow me, my lord, follow me, perchance there 

may be time. 
Hugo. — Away! away! 

Exeunt. 

Scene III.— The Church. Before the altar. Raymond, 
Lionel, Eunonia, Gerard, Anselmo, Thomas, 
Witmund, monks, and officers. Raymond vested as 
celebrant and so acting. Lionel and Eunonia 
kneeling before him. Solemn music as the scene opens. 

Raymond. — May she in shamefastness be grave and meek, 
In holy doctrines learn'd, faithful and chaste, 
Fruitful in offspring, proved and innocent, 
Like Rachel gentle, like Rebecca wise, 
Like Sarah true and reverend; and attain 
Unto the heavenly kingdom and the rest 
Prepared for those who love Him by the Lord. 

Choir chant; " Ite missa est. Deo gratias." 



280 

Raymond. — The God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, 
The God of Jacob with you be! Himself 
Fulfil His blessing that you both may see 
Your children's children to the third and fourth 
Generation, and may afterward partake 
Of everlasting life by Jesu's help, 
The Christ, who with the Almighty Father and 
The Spirit through eternity doth live 
And reign one God. 

Enter Janitor, Hugo, and retainers following. 

Janitor. — This way, my lord! 

Hugo. — Withold 

Thy hand, sir priest! I utterly refuse 
My sanction to this marriage! Villain! thou 
Hast stolen my child! 

Raymond. — Too late! 'tis done, 'tis done! 

Eunonia. — Forgive me, father! 

Lionel. — Have no fear, sweet wife! 

Anselmo. — Shall we be blameless here? 

Gerard. — He chokes with anger! 

Hugo. — Vengeance on him, who creeping to my hearth 
Hath, like the frozen serpent, stung the hand 
That fed him! Thou hast witcht my daughter, 

scoundrel! 
Give back to me the dearest jewel left 
In Time's hoar crown! False friars, this sacrilege 
Shall cost ye dear! Gerard, thou knave — 

Gerard.— My lord, 

Sir Lionel is my master. 

Lionel. — Let me speak — 

Hugo. — So foul a stain my house hath never known ; 
Vengeance on Lionel! vengeance on the slave! 



28l 

Unhappy father! O unduteous child! 
My curse shall blast this desecrated rite! 
Raymond.— Peace! sinner all presumptuous! Know'st 
thou not 
That worldly wrangles have no place beneath 
Our sacred roof? Wouldst thou with oaths defile 
God's hallowed temple, and upbraid His priests 
For due performance of a marriage blest 
By heaven and earth alike? What He hath joined 
Man may not sunder. Injury to thee 
Or thine this deed can never bring; if blame 
Be merited my single head shall bear 

Alone thy worst displeasure, for the monks 

Thy fatherly bestowal lacking— turned 

From what these hands have done nor countenanced 

In least particular. 

Anselmo.— His words, my lord, 

Proclaim our innocency. 

Hugo. Juggle me none 

Excuses! baseness breedeth baseness. Ye 
Do live so far removed from worldliness 
Our poorer virtues, such as gratitude, 
Veracity, and honour have no place 
Among ye! 

Drogo.—(to Raymond)— Dear, my lord, you pale and 
tremble. 

Raymond,— 'Tis naught— 'tis naught! How beautiful 
she is 
E'en in her terror! 

Lionel— Kindly father mine, 

No blame shall rest on thee nor on the house. 
All may be justified. 



2%2 

Hugo. — What! is Raymond dead 

That ye profane the solemn obligation 
Between us vowed? 

Raymond. — Raymond is dead. 

Hugo. — Is dead? 

How know'st thou that, bold monk? 

Eunonia. — If he be dead, 

What nobleness is quencht! 

Hugo. — How know'st thou that? 

Raymond. — Nay, it befits not thee to ask; but this 
I know — Raymond is dead — Raymond is dead 
To thee and all as ever mortal may be! 

Hugo. — Didst thou know Raymond Ver, that stainless 
knight? 

Raymond. — Ay, well, old man. I knew him better far 
Than any soul on earth; God is my judge — 
And he is dead I tell thee. 

Hugo. — How ? 

Eunonia. — Alas ! 

Raymond. — A lowly sinner, he profest when woe 
Bittered his cup of pleasure and deflowered 
The promise of his life, "Brothers, I crave," 
His weary voice did brokenly beseech, 
"Brothers, I crave the haven of these walls, 
That ne'er again the echoes of the world 
Ring in mine ear. I would be one with ye — 
The lowliest of a lowly brotherhood, 
Your Christly work be mine, your fare be mine, 
Your lot, your life be mine." Drogo! thy arm! 
And so into the friar he passeth away; 
And dead to all the world, his death hath done 
But good to all the world, and most to thee, 



283 

Hugo. — That voice awakeneth echoes of old days! 

Tush! I grow credulous. Make clear their truth! 
For else thy words confirm thee his accomplice, 
Who infamously doth usurp the state 
Of Raymond. 

Lionel. Shall e'en age spit venom, and not 

Be answerable? 

Drogo. — He is beside himself, 

My lord! 

Raymond The ancient fire! stubborn as brave! 

Drogo. — Have care, you are infirm and jaded. 

Eunonia. — (to Hugo) — Father, 

Hast thou forgot thy love? 

Hugo. — Thou hast forgot 

The modesty of woman, and art fallen 
Down to the measure of his villainy. 
My men beset the mount, save where the wave 
Doth whelm the way, and, by the Lord who wept 
In dark Gethsemane, thy husband there 
Shall never be thy husband save in name, 
Unless 'tis proved that Raymond, Lord of Ver, 
Is dead. 

Raymond. — Ha! help me nearer, Drogo; thanks. 

Lionel. — Eunonia, courage ! 

Hugo. — Yea, I will wrench thee from 

His arms were the archangel's wraith between us, 
And keep thee virgin, though I wall thee up 
Alive! Wulf, sound the trumpet! 

Raymond. — Madman, hold! 

Drogo. — No more, my lord. 

Hugo. — Away, prove Raymond dead — 

Show me his corse or bring me witnesses 



284 

Of his decease! Back, insolent! nor palter 

With words! Where art thou, Raymond? 
Raymond. — I am he. 

Hugo. — Thou, Raymond? No, no! 
Eunonia. — Raymond? 

Raymond. — I am he — 

Raymond. Once Raymond, Lord of Ver, now 
Ambrose, 

A poor monk of this abbey — Drogo, leave 

Me not. 

Leans on Drogo. 
Drogo. — Never, my lord. 

Raymond. — Am I so changed 

That e'en my features speak no more of me! 

Hast thou forgot me, Hugo? Look! 
Hugo. — So worn, 

And feeble! and my sight is dim. 
Eunonia. — 'Tis he! 

Raymond. — Did I not charge thee keep the covenants? 
Eunonia. — What smote me blind? 
Lionel. — Is't possible! 

Eunonia. — But now 

I see his visage clearly — wasted face — 

White hairs! 
Lionel. — Shrunk from a prime majestical 

To such a piteous wonder! 
Raymond. — Drogo ! 

Drogo. — Master, 

Thou art faint. 
Hugo. — O, Raymond! Raymond. 

Drogo. — Give room! 



285 

Hugo.— Dear heart, what was the cause? what was the 
cause? 

Drogo.— Crowd not upon him, he is very frail 
Raymond.-Where art thou, Drogo? did she come? 
JJrogo. — TT . 

A/r 1 it-,, Knoweth not 

My lord his faithful watch-dog? 
Hugo. — -p 

^ The vesture chokes ■^S^S?' 
inee all— some other morning. 

Dies. 



286 
THE ENGLISH DREAM. 

"To subjugate, capture, or kill the Khalifa is but an 
English dream". (German newspapers, in the Summer of 
1899). 

"Ireland will be able to trouble England's dreams! 1 
(Screed-Irishism, 1 900) . 

"The Boer wearing a pink puggaree round his hat 

who is a German, zvho speaks English well: Vlak- 

fontcin, 29th May, 1901. 

"Wingate, seven miles south-east El Gedid found 
Khalifa — at Omdebrikat — after sharp fight 
Routed him utterly. Khalifa killed. All 
Chief Emirs killed, wounded, or prisoners 
But Osman Digna who fled when firing began. 
Whole camp taken. Thousands surrendered. Marched 
Sixty miles in sixty hours. Fought two actions. 
Our casualties four men killed and seventeen wounded". 

So ran, in sense, the Sirdar's telegram 

That joyful-woful Saturday of next 

November when, as well, we read the news 

Of Enslin and how Methuen's comrades drove 

Once more through air shot quick with German bomb 

And bullet the tough, courageous, mobile Boer 

And apter mercenaries, ridge after ridge, 

From their hugged triply trenched and burrowed kopjes. 

Then ravened us that dreadful week of mid 
December when the same Great Hand that freed 
Through ours the devastated Soudan, thrice smote 
Us heavily in long-earned chastisement. 



287 

Nor eased the scourge through many after days: 
Witness the morrow of His own Son's Feast 
When Mafeking saw back of her Fourscore 
But thirteen living and unwounded, foiled 
By rebel treachery — faint Hope afeard to breathe 
''Great hearts with Greatheart! yet ... can she with- 
stand? " ; 
Our New Year's greeting — and from Pretoria! — 
"Kuruman surrendered".!, our brave patrol, 
British and native, left without a gun, 
Yet, crippled thus, enduring two long months 
The siege — our blot, their splendour!; next, 'twas how 
The easy birdlime of a forged command 
Had snared the Suffolk men with battling French 
And cruelly flecked his finer strategy; 
Then as the hours went trembling on, in pale 
Anxiety we read White's heliograph 
Flasht after that the skulking foe at last 
Found courage for attack and, twice driven off, 
Swarmed on for fresh defeat — "Attack renewed. 
Very hard pressed." — and then — "there is no sun." — 
As though that Hand had barred the very light 
Against us! "Hard pressed."! Not one drop of blood 
True British but ached in sympathetic pain 
Where'er throughout this planet the electric pulse 
Throbbed tidings, till thrilling came — "Enemy 
Everywhere repulsed". Scarce in thankful pride 
Snatched respite than, swift-called, each straining sense 
Watched the bold-crossed Tugela: had our chiefs 
Learnt the grim lesson of mishap? Were Buller's 
Brave words, "no turning back," true prophecy? 
Was he trepanned by deadlier wile than erst — 
As Europe's baser peoples voiced their hope? 



288 

Assigned the curs' part in our chastisement 
These Shimeis, baring wolfish fangs, behowled 
Us that vibrant-reverberate above 
Their lands the deep air shook with ululation! 
Suborned by hell's own champion liar, Leyds, 
Their scurvy Press poured forth a stream of slime 
Upon us; ten times took the towns their friends 
Beleaguered; magnified defeat, when we 
Had lost; belittled victory, when we 
Had won; spat venom on our generals; 
Cut our divisions into pieces; sent 
Our army helter-skelter routed in full 
Retreat to Cape Town ; hooted us decadent — 
Alone would Intervention place us e'en 
A third-rate Power: — there was no infamy 
With which their fecal fingers did not strive 
To daub the British name and all men heir 
To Shakespeare's language. 

What a spectacle 
The Lord God made of us before His angels! 
For we, His vikings, berserks, fighting sailors, 
The salt breath of the sea e'er in our nostrils 
And blowing by our doors — we swallowed down 
Their rascal tricks of freighted contraband, 
Faint-heartedly surrendering rights of search 
Won the world round through war and wrack with 

streams 
Of blood and treasure through a thousand years: 
Yea, paying forfeit that we dared to touch 
Sham-neutral cargoes on sham-neutral ships! 
Hence have they warned us from our old domain 
Of Ocean — to "dictate" or peace or war 



289 

Their vaunt is!; thus from Asia Minor — which 

They would thieve; thus from caftan'd Persia — which 

They would thieve ; thus from mandarin d China — which 

They would thieve; thus from Afghanistan — which 

They would thieve; thus from Mesopotamia — which 

They would thieve; thus from blind Korea — which 

They would thieve; thus from ensnared Brazil — which 

They would thieve; West, or East, or North, or South 

We "must" — 'tis their imperial phrase — resign 

Intention, notion, move no handstir, toward 

A further goal. They have "historic roles" 

To play, "historical accounts" with us 

"To settle", "world policies" to consummate, 

Infinite-indefinite "minimum claims" 

To press, "historic missions" to fulfil, 

"Traditional tendencies" to fructify, 

"Paths" to "unswervingly pursue". But we? 

Such things in us — flaunts not the imperial word? — 

Are mere "pretensions"; ours is "unscrupulous 

Exploitation"; we must be "forced" to terms, 

"Prevented", "kept in constant anxiety" 

To landward, "threatened" seaward by the Powers 

Imperially conjoined, offer no front 

'Gainst any imperial wight's "imperious will," 

And penned within cast-iron borders fixed 

Imperially by these imperial sharks, 

Watch them imperially ingest the nations, 

Ourselves permitted to retain our own — 

Not swept from Egypt nor the Indus valley— 

Until consolidated, knouted, drilled, 

Aggrandized, organized into one huge 

Destroyer menacing free, self-governing peoples, — 

Imperial battleships, imperial hosts 



290 

Are massed imperially to subjugate 

And dispossess us! Hath this globe a spot 

Safe from their predatory gripe? Do not 

Their parasitic hordes already invade 

Our States to furthest flutter of the flag? 

Do they not batten upon us; vulgarise 

Our tongue? bring with them dirty ways of life, 

Base manners, purulent morals, low ideals? 

Send crowding through our careless-open door 

Such swindling scum as baffle bankruptcy? 

Such criminals as with a filthier taint 

Contaminate the fester of our jails? 

Unbidden guests that jostling to the board 

Oust rightful heirs, nor by a dream's resolve 

In thought or act put on our citizenship 

Albeit engorging its advantages? 

Is not permitted sojourn made pretence 

To intermeddle, impudently claim 

Superiority e'en to ownership? 

No "Yellow Peril" can for us involve 

The menace of these self-elected foes 

Who from their Continental bastion — primed 

With weekly plans of fell invasion — lour 

Across our billowy moat with hate malign 

Which were't translated into physical fact 

Would roll the wave corrodent on our shore, 

Would blast our atmosphere to rotting germs, 

Charge every natural function with our murder: 

Ours, who had liefer lend love than borrow hate, 

In whom long atrophied the crotaline gland 

And duct and sac and fang wherewith these yet 

Secrete and spit the snaky venom! 



291 



It "well with the Childe"? Alas, my countrymen, 

What mystery of inaction, drowsed advance! 

What blurred envisioning the plain-scrawled fact! 

What hugged effeteness! What 'blind leading blind'! 

What barren "routs"! what useless "victories"! 

From "Mournful Monday" to the Klip Drift rout 

What cross-web of "mishap", "reverse", "surprise", 

"Repulse", "disaster", "capture", "ambush", ruin 

Of Opportunity by Blunder! High 

Or low, general or private, still the wit 

Was out! Still the astuter enemy 

Withdrew e'en as he chose, unharmed 

Or barely scotched, with every gun 

Secure, more cruel scathe in his retreat 

Than our attack! Oh, that miserable week 

Of mid December, when we could only wait 

In tense, shamed agony, fearing yet worse! 

Oh, our Northumberlands and Irish lads 

Entrapped at Stormberg! Our poor Highlanders 

Butchered at Magersfontein! Our brave brigades 

Paraded through a sleet of German lead 

To slaughter at the Tugela's fatal drifts! 

Were we not all with one groan as from one heart 

Slain with our slain when, cheated victors, flasht 

The futile tragedy of Spion Kop? 

Nay, after that the Chief with Kitchener 

Unravelled the dire tangle, French dashed on 

To Kimberley, pursuit found Paardeberg, 

Stout Buller battled through to Ladysmith, 

Our army swept the foe a broken wave 

Before, them, Bloemfontein yielded, Kroonstad next, 

Bold brother-hearts freed Mafeking — and glory 



2()2 

Is their story who died for Maf eking! — 

Our tattered, hungry regiments again 

Perversely halted by the long crawl o'er wide 

Veldt distances of trebly-throttled traffic 

Again crashed forward till Johannesberg 

Was ta'en, Pretoria shrivelled from her vaunt 

Into submission, out were driven Natal's 

Invaders, fresh delay o'ercome our men 

Along the twinned steel fought to that key-Poort 

Whence, certes, with less coward Ministers 

We had begun our counter-onset saving 

Thousands of noble sacrificial lives 

And half our lavished millions — all that makes 

Humanity the masters of a land 

Had passed within our keeping, and the war, 

As war, was won — their crook-brained <k baas" a rich, 

Blaspheming, lying fugitive, apt sewer 

For celt and continental filth and guest 

Of a deluded, German-tutored girl-queen — 

Though fifty times dispersed defeated, scant 

Through capture, beaten, still our wild-cat foe 

Struck deep with sharp claw seeking but to wound, 

To tear, to break, to spoil, to scratch and 'scape 

Where'er our men were few, our line was weak: 

E'en daring when too late the southward lunge 

That erst impelled in ordered, solid force 

Belike had pressed us to our battleships 

And filled long years with tenfold bloodier toil. 

For, wonder of all wonders which this war 

Blazed forth, Time, Option, Opportunity, 

And Armament cogged dice secure within 

His gamester-clutch, the Boer moved hamstrung on 



293 

To action: foiled ere he ventured: lost ere 

He threw! Faced, then, but by ineptitude] 

Crass as his own to realize realities, 

Unreadiness, fewer numbers, effete 

Tactics, out-ranged ordnance, spilt valour, rust,] 

Conceit — afore his curbed foot fouled our soil 

He trampled into dust of nothingness 

His fond design to shog the dial-plate 

Of Progress backward, holding bound for aye 

Within some battlemented dungeon-keep 

The Anglo Saxon mannikin of his mind! 

Crowning himself thereafter by our stripes 

A conqueror, when but a direly wielded scourge; 

Invulnerable wrecker of the British States 

When but a railway-wrecker, train-robber, convoy-thief. 

Mark the Great Hand of Love in chastisement! 

Mark that Great Hand of Love in aid none less 

The loving! — here, where we are lashed to agony 

By an inferior folk and pilloried 

In writhing shame before a jeering world — 

There, where through slowly-rounding years, by long 

Probation, deathly groping past the bleached bones 

Of immolated brothers, we thus wrought 

Into a fitly-answering instrument 

And used, the Dervish tyranny falls dead! 

Yea, we emerged and shall emerge triumphant — 

But in His might, the Avenger's, the Chastiser's, 

The Maker's! Not our own. For, naught more sure 

Can History witness or men's actions prove 

Than that He separated us and breathed 

The informing Spirit and touched our lips and filled 

Our hands with fire of utterance and of deed 



294 

And thrust us forth to speak and do, and made 

Us There and Then as Here and Now 

For this the generations' ingathering 

His human germinals of that true growth 

In things political and personal 

We hail as Freedom, Progress, Brotherhood, 

The Federated Weal of All, whereby 

Communities, like flowers, expand in light. 

In the dim dawn, raying from Him who said 

"All ye are brethren", faintly caught athwart 

Time's chasm by churl and thane; spurned underfoot 

By thieves of power — Norman, Plantagenet, 

Lancaster, Tudor — flickering, kindling quick 

Amid our common folk, hid, banned, re-lit, 

Wafting of its pure fire o'ersea to glow 

Beyond the pilgrim shrine on Plymouth Rock 

In kin and kith through novel paths and dark, 

Nigh quenched again, trode down, till Cromwell took 

The smouldering brand within his mightier fist 

And blew it into flame, and forged the glaive 

Which smote our sentimental tyrant low, 

And clarioned forth our peoples' high evangel 

To what hath breath for ever — "Ho! know all! 

We Britons are free fellow-citizens 

In whom all sovran power inheres, nor more 

Nor less in any one of us, being each 

A square-hewn equal stone built in that Round 

Which is the British States; and have, and e'er 

Shall use the right to choose what form of rule 

May best befit our need as fluctuant tides 

Of change-evolving circumstance demand. We do 

Refuse to bow the knee before that Baal 



295 

The sham-divine prerogative of kings, 
Or Privilege; and stand at instant war 
With Tyranny, and will to utterest force 
Strike loose her thralls. We trust our liberties 
To no man's keeping, subjects only of 
The laws we make as these reflect the face 
Of God in Christ. So help us God. Amen."; 
Yet he who voiced us truly, fearlessly, 
By deed momentous as by resonant word, 
Bereft of Hampden and the murdered Eliot 
Nor finding like constructive minds to build 
On the broad pillars of Democracy, 
Poised our dominions on the sword's point, and sank 
Into the mire of Self and Personal Rule, 
And summoned hence in thunder, left us limed 
Than e'er more helpless in Dynasticism's 
Rapacious tentacles, anon so sparse 
Of home-made fitting idols that we must 
Go begging at the Hague or fish afar 
With an attenuate ancestry's long line 
In fecund German ponds to hook and hoist 
An alien princeling on a needless throne. 
Still bargained we for Rights, nay, durst extort them: 
As fettered dolts may claim a clout, and wrap 
Their shackles — lightlier snapped — to ease the gall. 
Still the brute general sense though dulled anew 
Grew slowly-sure impregnate of that Spirit 
Whose ripe fruition is true Liberty; 
Conviction of injustice nerved to deeds 
Which made cowed acquiescence in Abuse 
Less universal; oft the loftier souls' 
Hearts' blood from shameful scaffolds dripped imming- 
ling 



296 

The clodded pulses of the multitude 

With flamelike wine of glad self-sacrifice 

Drank from that cup held to the unshrinking lip 

On solitary heights by Him Who drained 

Its deepest draught: disclosed through processes 

Of injury, or roughly thrust within 

Our gates by sharp-clawed conflict or distress 

Pale inchoations of a polity 

Made by and for the Many as the Few 

Yeast-like were quickening in the popular mind; 

Though, blindfold spendthrifts, wasted we, ill-spared, 

Our blood and gold on princes' petty quarrels, 

Yet thus 'twas learnt dynasties come and go, 

It is The People only that remain: 

Albeit we limped, our faces were set forward. 

Across the Atlantic sturdy brothers brought 

To birth through lusty throes a younger England, 

Most loving, loyal, toward us; with our own 

Keen zest for danger, hate of tyranny, 

Surpassing seamanship, resolve to bond 

The State's foundation deep on Freedom girt 

By Law and Order; bearing shrined anew 

O'er ever-widening ways that Living Light 

To burn more fervid-splendent than upon 

The parent altar; taming trackless wilds 

To bear home's harvest and the thriving town; 

Winning a new continent that the old flag 

Should float above it. Not of the British Folk, 

Not ours, the mulish handiwork, the crime 

Inexpiable which wrested these to just 

Revolt against unjust exaction! That 

The best/tted de'eti df clo'dpWll royalty 






297 

And clodpoll royalism! That is to thank 
The creeping palsy of the Crown and its 
Attendant lackeying! For tolerance 
Whereof and Cromwell's failure have we paid 
With loss of Greatest Britain, and the W T orld's 
Command. Nor from our sober Commonwealth 
Nor aught of ours the maniac frippery 
And haggard Terror huddled on by France 
With blood-bedrabbled fingers for the ript 
Cere-cloth, playing the harlot, shaming us 
Back to Reaction's barren bed and breasts 
Of our spayed, tutelary goddesses 
Expedience and Conventionalism. 

Still on 
We hobbled, bruise, and scar, and debt, the pay 
For work that loosed the helpless Continent 
From vassalage beneath the imperial heel 
Of its great soldier-genius who constringed 
His greatness to an emperor's narrow bound 
And shattered all. No bludgeoning could beat 
Us blind enow to count a thing benign 
Our royal would-be fugleman's "crowned friends' " 
Unholy Alliance. Sick to the soul of war, 
And loathing violence, we laid firm hold 
On Compromise and wrought it to a means 
Of wider influence that argument 
By blows might cease among us; dourly set 
For many a fall from massed Stupidity 
"Reform" became our battle-cry throughout 
The land : like Claudias Lysias "with a great sum" 
We raised the blot of slavery from our name; 
Compelled repeal where statutes made a man 
Less than a fellow-citizen on plea 



298 

Of Race contemned or Creed bar-sinistered 

By owls in office; fought to save and keep 

Our ownership in elemental things 

And their administration, booned a trust 

To all for all in Time, and thus derived 

Beyond the scope of alienative power 

In any generation, yet oft impawned 

By our imprescient sires or snatched by keen 

Imbanded hucksters who with influence bred 

Therefrom and crutched by bland legality 

Sway legislative acts to lease anew 

Old robberies; stood in the pillory 

Behowled, mucked, bruised, with slitted nose, cropped 

ears, 
And branded cheeks, that they who hooted, hurled 
The filth, or cast the stone, might freely vent 
In words — no risk but Truth's — their very soul 
Impenal; battered at their door until 
We forced the lords and bishops to annul 
Inhuman codes which gave a blood-revenge 
In fire and hemp against the thief; withstood 
The arrogant claim that Rule is coronet-tagged 
Or as wealth's heirloom passes; strove to lift 
The labourer from his dungheap and enlarge 
Him with the artisan from sodden ways 
Of swinish acquiescence in imposed 
Abasement, ignorance, and deprivation-r- 
Of these and like-blanched monads of our blood 
To form the ruddy life-fraught corpuscles 
Which singly-integrally building up 
Shall fill the pregnant arteries of the State; 
Sent through far zones our thus enfranchised sons 
To found Vvith freer hands on freer soil 



299 

New nations 'neath the marching Union Jack, 

Unhampered by the backwash of the French 

Tornado winning territories huge 

On whose vast area spaced were Britain but 

A patch; subduing millions less by force 

Than wise administration, 'mid whose swarms 

Our folk were as one swallowed in a crowd; 

Making clean-handed Justice theirs as ours — 

The white man hung if he have slain the black, 

The black man hung if he have slain the white, 

Transmuting barbarism slowly save 

Where cruel and obscene, uprooting not 

Wild weeds of harmless custom, patiently 

Erasing mutual ignorance, distrust, 

Aversion, leading on the swaddled mind 

To higher use of life in comradeship: 

Hereto, our pioneers going on before 

O'er stranger seas from lands unknown rolled back 

The screen and planed the way for all who chose 

To come. The greatest labour ever dared 

The greatest mastery e'er achieved by man. 

Since aught was writ, or thought, or known, or done, 

There's no such record, nor can be again; 

The world's too trodden and Time's bourn too spanned. 

Thus by His grace Who made us islanders, 

And conquerors of our conquerors, and bestowed 

The Vision and the Will and Might and Means — 

Unworthy we! — Who bade us brotherly 

Receive His guests the needy and oppressed 

When these sought home with us from alien shores 

And gain a defter deftness, newer arts, 

In recompense: and even led us on, 



300 

Ay, goaded, when our coward footstep lagged, 

Ay, scourged us when our coward hand refused, 

To the long siege of Power intrenched behind 

Hereditary fetichism, abused, 

Usurped, or blindly delegated: thus 

By His grace, be it "old glory" under, be it 

The blazoned crosses, wheresoe'er may rule 

The Anglo Saxon, or as helmsman stand, 

Bedizened though she strut in feudal rags, 

Or whore't with mammonism — as we in sloth 

Or stupidness permit — Authority 

Is but one fellow-citizen who serves 

Another: woven among us right and right 

'Tween man and man unwritten or inscribed 

Our laws in large are freemen's; new or old, 

In custom, institution, aught the like, 

Peculiarly an attribute of us 

The Anglo Saxon, much is builded up 

On precious stone imperishable which yet 

Shall pierce the sky in fair-wrought pinnacles 

Of lasting beauty and utility; 

Our furious challenge of injustice done 

To any as 'twere done to each and all 

Bespeaks a passion greater than ourselves 

Evolved in conflict through development 

Impersonal essence of the public soul 

With scorn of self and prescript that shall force 

Reversal, reparation, and hurl off 

Recurrence; desolating wounds, undreamt 

Calamity, devouring accident, 

Or wrought by rebel kin or withering foe 

Or cataclysmal thrusts of cosmic things, 

Are borne with an austere serenity 



301 

That doth permit nor tear nor groan for ease 
From lesioned brain or lacerated heart; 
And widely Brotherhood is half-achieved 
Or motived or beseemed — mere dream no more 

Inerrant, patient, deftly-moulding Hand 

Invisibly quickening mind as visibly matter, 

That dost impart men's differing qualities — 

As these potential for an absolute end 

Of tyranny within the State in us, 

Thrift in the Teuton, brilliance in the Gaul — 

And showest in marvellous workmanship Thyself 

An infinite-perfect, perfect-infinite 

Artificer: doth not Thine exquisite touch 

On massed immensity or granuled jot, 

Through myriad phase of fixed or plastic form 

Implanting functive processes immeshed 

With beauty, trumpet an Intelligence 

Effecting the creational intent 

Of One Ineffable Will? If man can yoke 

The unseen electric pulse an operant slave 

To mechanism answering his design 

Shall not the Master Craftsman's thought be like 

Dynamic in His illimitable sphere? 

Shall He Who builded up in Speech a bridge 

From soul to soul, whereo'er communities 

Do throng, and tissued every sentient thing 

With potence fit to change in Change — shall He 

Refuse us counsel or a sign while e'en 

We lead by wraiths of sound on writhing lips 

Deaf mutes to understand? Is there no Word 

From Him that, held, were pillar'd cloud and fire 



302 

Upon our march To-Day? 



Hearken! 



Thou solemnly they have not thee but Me 
Rejected that I should be their King." 



Protest 



'Them will 



I cause to be tossed to and fro among 
All kingdoms of the earth". 

Are we more nigh 
Than Israel of old days to the Divine 
And more compound of toughening human steel 
That our imperialism less miserably 
Shall rot away the core of citizenship 
And loosening our loins to water, thrust 
Us down through spurning Time ungirt of power, 
A newer Waif of Nations? 

Hearken yet! 
"All ye are brethren.", "They the Gentiles count 
As rulers lord it over them, and those 
Their great ones wield authority. Not so 
With you! But he who would be great, must be 
Your serving-man; and who among you would 
Be first, must be the slave of all"., "New wine 
Must be put into fresh wine-skins." "A house 
Against itself divided cannot stand.", 
"Ye cannot serve God and Mammon"., "Be ye 
Therefore perfect as is your Father in Heaven"., 
"The Truth shall make you free.", "Love one another.", 
"Fear not", "Abide in Me.", "Have faith in God." 

What is the English Dream? 

To follow Him 
Who calls as ne'er man called: as ne'er men followed; 



Transmuting our vile dross to His fine* goid^ 
In Public Life, in Public Laws, in Public Deeds 
To do, to be, these things; to make them Us: 
Thereon upbuilding of the British States 
That Great Fraternal Federal Commonwealth 
They plan, where all shall be for All, and all 
In Him, Who now hath drawn aside the veil 
Of Time and Circumstance that we discern 
This greater work awaiting and Now take hold 
Or shrink back shrivelling to a petty realm. 

Clear Means, effective citizenship of each! 
Clear, ere the effective citizen is, must be 
The human unit humanly effective! 

These primal human dues avowed and paid 

Shall form a fourfold-banded basal course 

For our broad wall inseverably knit 

With that Eternal Rock whereon we build. 

For, then, — as do in crowding millions now — 

No woman, child, or man beneath our flag 

Will famish underfed from birth to age 

Denied one hour's full vital force in nerve 

Or blood or muscle, flabbed in marrow as mind 

Past power of stiffening once 'gainst ill dragged down 

To drunkenness, compliance, apathy, 

With every sense depraved and dully stung 

On the immediate morsel; nor will they 

Rot in a reeking slum or sweater's den; 

Nor cower in rags; nor longer strive equipt 

By irresponsible officialdom 

With spavined jades, a sawdust coulter, shoes 

Of straw, blue-spectacles, red-tape for reins 

And gear to plow the stony upland fronting. 



304 

y 
Not surer death! Yea, if the Boers' keen knife 

Hath failed, a sharper scalpel of Disaster 

More dire will hack away like cancroid growths 

Our narrow-mindedness, self-complaisance, 

Distortion, stupidness, frivolity, 

Submission, idol-worship, callousness, 

Until with vision clarified and wills 

On active solidarity determined, 

By freest Gift direct or indirect, 

Time-blunted lendings, graduated wage, 

Diffusion propped by wisely-tallied aid — 

Whate'er may fully match the circumstance — 

We tax our prodigal wealth, resources huge, 

Untenanted vast latent-fruitful lands 

To end this gnawing mockery of life, 

Blot out this haunting hell of wastrel souls, 

Dispel this choking fog of sciolism, 

That all our Own at last will have their own 

And yield the rounded human entity 

Fit, equal part of one regenerate Whole. 

Hence our effective citizen will emerge, 
With strong hands competently taking hold 
The States' affairs, a solemn duty grasped 
Nor longer like a jester's bawble loll'd 
But bounden obligation by the law, 
Austerely penalised for least default. 

Hereto his citscript: an indefeasible 
Proprietary title-deed of him himself 
As one co-ordinate personal working part 
In the Community's administration; 



305 

Inoptionally his what day doth end 

The settled nonage, with consecrating oath 

Of fealty to the People and the Flag; 

Clear record of that duty done at each 

Momentous milestone on the civic way; 

Unchallengeable voucher he is he 

In whatso corner of the British States 

Be chosen a home, there straightway to fulfil 

Sovran prerogatives of citizenship; 

With due inscrollment of the bargained years 

A mandate instant on our treasuries— 

If Need require— for seemly maintenance 

Nor doled nor humbling; bond of broadening good 

For all, his citscript, till he pass to that 

'Abiding city' of the Yonder Land. 

The Power and Values occupancy alone 

Creates through those who occupy a country 

And makes their imprescriptible and joint 

Possession, will no more be frothed away 

In representative futilities, 

But handled and administered direct 

In individual actuality. 

Hence our effective citizens everywhere 

As one totality will integrate 

The People's Council: supreme instrument 

Of their executive resolve: to mean 

Or main to local or to general 

Affairs elastically adaptable: 

In the forlornest cranny of our wide 

Dominions where men may meet as in our dense 

Metropolis, alike for pioneer 

And multitude through aptly graded form 



306 

Subserving all: a-work full functioning, 

Unstayed, unswerved, through each for each to 6n£ 

Sole end the common weal; to keep what is 

Of Old befits; adopt, assimilate 

What is of New that nourishes; expel 

Effete survival howsoever clutched; 

To reconstruct, reconstitute, establish; 

Appropriate legislation; tax; expend, — 

With rigorous check to the last inch and doit; 

To choose, appoint, remove those who within 

Our borders are for any Place employed 

Executively, with or without a wage, 

From Chiefest to the Lowliest, held in strict 

Account of full responsibility: 

Internal or external to control 

Relations of the State; make War and Peace; 

Grip things alert to every shifting phase, 

Yielding no tittle of authority; 

Retaining and maintaining all that is 

And is implied by sovranty: in like 

Creative saneness linking part with part 

Interdependently co-operant 

Devolved in finely-modulate force to shape 

From out the Small the Large, the Large the Small, 

Attain among His cosmic processes 

Who moulds the atoms to a universe — 

The Living Nations' Living God. 

Thus, then, 
The Dawn will be accepted as the Dawn 
And not Continuing Night; we shall emerge, 
At last, Ourselves, not bide Reflected Ghosts; 
Not tarry blinking self-complacently 



In garments iong outworn; not still pack oti 

The next-street goodman neighbour's tongue our grave 

Concerns, our honour, and our interests, 

But for the politician substitute 

The Effective Citizen and for politics 

Effective Citizenship. Gentle and simple, 

Simple and gentle, we shall stand, at last, 

Together fellow-labourers, each for all. 

St. George's Channel to a river shrink, 
The Green Isle as ourselves home-rule herself 
Being part of our home rule, a British State; 
Proconsular rule dissolved, the federal bond 
True union ever closelier drawn, and judged 
Not by their fools but by their Fusiliers 
Her people won to win prosperity, 
Both bludgeon and shillelagh cloven to light 
Fresh fires of industry, the happy Land 
Swarmed with her happy owners laughing up 
To heaven in tillaged richness, barren but 
Of indigence, of rancour, and of strife. 

Among us all will sharp amercement wait 

And loathed disgrace on them who should have known 

And might have aided of their vicinage 

If any hunger, or bear rags, or herd 

Together, yea, or rest illiterate; 

For National Thrift exacting worth for worth — 

Good Fairy Thrift despised and banned before — 

Will gain huge revenues dealt cunningly 

In wise beneficence for body and mind: 

Youth with enabling Knowledge armed, Age rid 

Of workhouse-dread. 



3o8 

Hereditism's Ju-ju 
Extinguished as the Aros', but that Place — 
Be it least esteemed or most exalted held — 
Will stand which serves the public purpose well 
In paid, approved performance: Brains, not Birth, 
Merit, not Influence will solely clothe 
With Office, Best for Best; and full reward 
Will faithful service win, yet personal, that, 
To him who earns it, not for his descendants! 

Not left a plaything for the idle rich, 

Not made an appanage by a lordly Caste, 

Nor borne occultly juggled from plain sense 

Into the fearful scourge of Militarism, 

Our warlike puissance on land and sea 

Stripped bare to sinewy Fighting Force combined 

And organized in one clear operant plan 

Where floats the Flag, therein will make and hold 

Each British citizen his able part 

A simple duty like sobriety, 

Politeness, honesty: shrewd service wrought 

Ungrudged at every point that no keen edge 

Or welded rivet fail throughout the sure, 

Sufficient Weapon, worn and wielded lief: 

None mustered conscript 'mid the ready millions. 

Our Own will First acknowledged stand for claims 

And rights to whatsoe'er hath gain and good 

With us before the alien; disappear 

The mongrel Briton, Anglo-This or -That; 

No tongue but English given official worth; 

Naught having mandate from a foreigner 

Conceded institutional force; withal 



309 

The alien, tested ana approved, of grace 
Graffed in Our Own. 

Labour, grown wise, will strike 
The Lout Saint Monday from his calendar, 
Cease making productivity a game 
At blindman's-buff, with trained intelligence 
Impress Invention to her topmost flight 
Through regnant Science bridled method-wise 
For increased output to the furthest verge 
Of widening possibilities, destroy 
The foreman-shark, with open ear and mind 
Alertly catch the faintest motive hint's 
Transmission of abated manual toil, 
Content alone in discontent with less 
Than present Best and First industrially, 
Nor trampled slave nor blind antagonist 
Nor co-conspirator of Capital 
But winning fair returns for both in wage 
And interest-charge for honest Work and Use, 
Copartner thus, employing though employed, 
Together mated as Industrialism — 
The People being their Masters, not their prey — 
To serve the public needs, with margined price 
'Tween rightful cost and sale adjusted due, 
Under control of the Community. 

The Press will cease to feed us British folk 

With pap pontifical; to cowardly 

Humour our cowardice by plastering slime 

Of lies around ill tidings till reverse 

Take on success; to label genuine men 

In cruel spite that these think other thoughts 



3*6 

And tread a different rut; will graciously 
Permit the Fact sometimes to show itself 
Unmuffled by Opinion; cease to play 
Choragus for the new imperial cult, 
A showman for those staged monstrosities 
Begot of Idol-worship, Ignorance, 
And Feudalism, thrust on the credulous throng 
As demiurgic, semi-divine, which else 
Would perish of their own inanity: 
Cease drumming, piping, and the reiterate bawl — 
"Walk up! walk up! most splendid sight on Earth! 
Exalted personages, demigods, 
Archangels, pure-bred seraphim, without 
A flaw, immaculate, impeccable, 
Who could not, if they might, do wrong, yet deign 
To mumm it like mere mortals and perform 
Most human tricks. Walk up! fall down, and worship! 
Behold, His Gracious Majesty So-and-So 
Can smile six inches! Kaiser What's-his-name 
Is twenty colonels! The Queen of Such-a-place 
Wears gold-ribbed boddices! The Sovereign Lord 
Of You-know-where doth condescend to grow 
A purple pimple on his conquering nose! 
The Duke of This-or-That sneezed thrice last night 
And slept but badly, troubled with the wind — 
It blew hard here, our readers may remember! 
King What-d'ye-call-him's caught a cold — 'twill turn, 
Tis feared, to mumps! Walk up! The greatest show 
On Earth! Walk up! fall down, and worship! wor- 
ship!". 
Nay, Humbug and Conventionalism those dear 
Familiars of the printing-house will pass, 
And e'en conceivably may editors 



3" 

Their sanctums ancient guard Expedience 
Replace with new-won Truth. 

India will not 
Exist for us, but we for India; she 
No golden egg sucked dry; her voice, 
Not scrimped Officialdom's, command regard; 
Quit blind evasion of our answerableness 
Though pomp and luxury perish by the deed 
Will British treasure loose the debt which gives 
Impoverishment for Harvest to her starved 
Perenially bankrupt Farming Man; 
Withdrawn the Clumsy Finger, and set up 
Expertest methods of development 
That scratch no surface with a wooden plow 
But make deep application of all means 
Known or devisable with patient skill 
To every tiniest chance of betterment; 
Conserved distributed the rain, canalled 
The land, out-irrigated Famine drown 
Into legend; beside the homelier steam 
Will generators wring from flume and wave 
Electric energy to operate 
And haul for soundly prospering industries 
Machine and product the quickened country through; 
Abjured our vain conceit of vassalage, 
And prudently enfranchised, led, and taught 
Her wakening multitudes will squarely stand ) 
On Fitness proven by intelligent 
Appraisal and pursuance gladly robed 
In sovran rights of British citizenship 
And sitting at our Federal Council Board: 
India become a British State! Where then 



312 

The vulnerable heel aggression seeks? 
India a Tower of Strength impregnable! 

Cast out by Time on equatorial space 

Or indolent island of the tropic main 

Forgot of influences that humanise 

Inheriting an undeveloped brain, 

The children-races trusted to our hand 

Will follow where we firmly guide them on 

Beyond barbaric ways and wildernesses 

By happy leading-strings of unified 

Adapted systems of protection, training, 

Administration, justice, settlement, 

To higher welfare, win, and proudly wear 

The sober garb of British citizens: 

Or African or Ocean Islander, 

In self-respect distinct, yet at our side 

Marching, one same red blood beneath the skin 5 

United 'gainst a common enemy. 

We will vouchsafe the Continentals' howl 

Of racial hate only disdain; for we 

Belong not unto Europe but the World, 

While they with eyes by Europe's dust bedimmed 

Inably blink that goal sublime whereto 

The Anglo Saxon presses: sharper none 

Reprisal than our heartiest laughter deal 

Their insolent pretension to assume 

The conduct of our national affairs; 

Receive their proffer for a "secret" pact 

With bubbling humour, well remembering 

That daggered spot beneath our sore fifth rib 

Oft kindly bared by courtier ministers 



313 

And neither preyed on by our arrogant 
Scrap-knowledge or conniving vanity: 
Nay, humble scholars we will learn what they 
Can teach worth knowing, diligently scrape 
Away our crusted self-sufficiency, 
Acquire aught theirs of that preciser line 
Assuring better work or workmanship; 
And, thankful debtors wishing to repay 
Their boon with e'en a greater gift, that these 
Who bravely won external Liberty 
May gain Her inner self, we will confer 
Fair acting copies in a plain round script 
Of Magna Charta, of The Bill of Rights, 
And of our custom Equal Justice cleped. 

Across the seas which sunder yet unite 

Will Briton unto Briton reach out hands 

That brother's hand in brother's hand may clasp 

Where'er are Britons — ay, in God's good hour, 

Where'er the English tongue rings dominant; 

Drawn near and nearer in one common bond 

Of broader Freedom ever broadening 

On bases of eternal righteousness, 

Bold wisdom energizing every means 

And seizing every opportunity 

Which lawfully can bring the multitudes 

True welfare in glad safety, watched by Might 

Assorting our vast interests and domains 

And organized in close reticulations 

Ungapped, that held by sleepless Vigilance 

Afloat, ashore concertedly aye ready 

Will make, though not one ship or man be moved, 

The brazen threat "Partition of proud England" 



3*4 

Fall idly as an idiot's vaunt that he 

.Will void the sky of light, flung at the sun 

Consolidated thus unshakenly, 

Ingrained again with brave initiative, 

Fulfilment of responsibility 

In public things the individual act, 

Three simple terms will form our Constitution, 

The Two existing to procure the Third, 

They being The People's Power, The People's Will 

The People's Good. 

As Higher Forms in their 
Advance drop parts grown useless, we shall leave 
Rejected on the rubbish-heap of Time 
Hereditism, Parties, rulers, caste, 
Imperialism, "subjects", monarchies, 
Monopolies, conspiracies of wealth — 
Ay, e'en to the demonetizing of money 
And hanging "Captains" of Pickpocketry! — 
Cliques, Privilege, Cabinets, governments, 
Unwitting seven-years-member tyrannies: 
So following His creational intent 
And processes Who reconstructs, adapts, 
Excises till from the Inferior is 
The Superior moulded, we shall build up 
In Law and Order's factive sanity 
That Great Fraternal Federal Commonwealtl 
Where all shall be for all and All in God, 
One among many brethren in the Christ, 
Adown the ages more and more by act 
Continually approaching Earth to Heaven 



315 
That is the English Dream. 

Make it come true, 
All Britons! Closelier scan: it is no dream, 
But natural consummation if ye choose: 
For choice is yours To-Day : To-Morrow, gone! 
The olden ways by which we clomb have served 
Their turn: now bend they downward to decay, 
Disintegration, death. The Higher Path 
Before ye mounts: the Larger Day hath broke 
Above it: come! ascend. Else, there is Doom. 
Else will the etherous waves of sensitive Space 
Thrill with their saddest record of this world 
Clear-vocal to the Omnipotent Majesty: 
'They do refuse: they fear: they blind themselves: 
They play the zany still. O Master, they 
Have failed!": the Future, bidden to Speech: "Unborn 
For aye The British States, Britain become 
A base dependency, her Freer Souls 
Or at her engorged heart, or south, or west, 
Or east, withdrawn combined to make a yet 
More great America. India to Russia, 
Egypt to France transferred. The Teuton waked 
From mediaevalism, the Latin shook 
From apathy, the Slav from childishness: 
O'erpassing and o'ermastering, each for each, 
The unworthy Isles". 

Were Justice, otherwise? 
Or Righteousness? or Truth? Creator? God? 



OCT ] 2 1P03 



VERSE 



BY 



GODFREY EGREMONT 



- » ^g&^ » 



MAB PRESS 

Great Kills, New York 

London Manhattan Branch 

13 Jewin Crescent 116 Nassau St., N. Y 



. C. Bindery 
1904 



